One Kiss From You
by coconutjelly596
Summary: When Harry and Hermione finally realize their feelings, it is just after the Dark Lord's rise to power. Their young love endangers Hermione, so no one can know. But somehow, someone does. How far will Harry go to protect her? M for future violence, lemons
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** For those who've already been reading this story, I've just cleaned up the first four chapters, and combined one and two into one to offer you a higher-quality beginning. Following chapters will not be quite this long, though some may approach the 4,000 word mark.

I've had a lot of confusion on this point (mostly of my own making), but this story begins in the **sixth year** for Harry & Co. I didn't like how the series ended, so I'm re-writing it, you could say. If you really enjoyed reading Harry Potter and the Extended Camping Trip, you may want to find another fic to spend your time on. Also, Slughorn is not a part of this story. I don't like him, either. Oh, and I think the Horcruxes are stupid, so they aren't there. In this world, Lupin has been brought back to teach DADA, and Snape is still happily installed as the Potions professor.

If you come across anything that contradicts these statements, **ignore it**. Better yet, send me a PM or leave a review, and I'll be more than happy to publicly grovel at your feet. Or maybe just go back and fix it. It'll really depend on what mood you catch me in :)

Enjoy!

~%%~

It was widely known throughout the wizarding world that if there was ever something to be kept safe, it would be most protected in exactly two places.

The goblins of Gringotts were not the sort of magical creature a sane witch or wizard would desire to cross, nor were the dragons rumored to live deep in the catacombs beneath the bank. Anything placed under the protection of the fiercely territorial goblins was sure to be untouched by any but the rightful owner—as long as the fees on the vault were kept up, anyway.

But even the goblins of Gringotts could not protect something as well as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore had been entrusted with some of the most valuable objects and information any in the wizarding world could remember, and many they had never known existed. Even people felt safest in his presence. Indeed, when danger had lurked in the wizarding world during the first rise and reign of Lord Voldemort, witches and wizards had breathed a collective sigh of relief each September when their children departed on the Hogwarts Express. Their children would be safe under his watchful eye.

Yes, Albus Dumbledore, with his seemingly endless wealth of power and knowledge, could keep any object, any person, any secret in the world as safe as it could be.

Except, apparently, from his students.

It started on a mild Tuesday evening in the third week of September, in the Ravenclaw common room, when a flush-faced third year boy came running in from a late detention with Professor Lupin to share his discovery. He had seen the corner of a parchment on Lupin's desk when turning in the inventory he'd taken of magical creatures available for class demonstration.

Padma Patil had been sitting near the fire and had overheard the boy rush in to share his findings with his friends. Ever the dutiful sister, she cornered Parvati Patil the next morning before breakfast and shared what she had heard.

Parvati, ever the dutiful best friend, had rushed to the Gryffindor table to spread the word to Lavender Brown, who squealed loudly and turned immediately to Seamus Finnegan, her current male obsession, to whisper loudly in his ear. A tiny gnat of a rumor began to grow.

Pansy Parkinson was walking past the Gryffindor table, sneering at Brown's pathetic display of unrequited love, when she heard the news Brown had whispered in the uninterested boy's ear. Pansy quickened her pace to reach her beloved Drak-y and share the good news with him. His scowl deepened into the small, secret smile he saved for her alone. When she snuggled next to him, he leaned away to retrieve something from the bag at his feet. He pulled open the Daily Prophet, using it as a shield to protect their intimate moments from prying eyes. How she loved her Drak-y.

Draco was revolted by the dog-like girl who had been drooling over him for years. He held up a copy of the Daily Prophet to keep anyone else from seeing his humiliation at having to put up with her, but he could not help but be genuinely interested in the tidbit she had brought him.

Student after student passed the news during breakfast that day, and as the first classes began, a faint buzzing of excitement began spreading through the student body of Hogwarts.

_A Christmas Ball? A Christmas Ball at Hogwarts?_

_Surely not. A Christmas Ball? Now?_

_How could he?_

_Why would he?_

Yet, despite the tone of bewilderment and disbelief sweeping through the corridors of Hogwarts, the anticipation building in the student body became palpable. Within days, the supposed Christmas Ball was all anyone could talk about. Hopes and disappointments ran rabid as some teachers flatly denied it, while others refused to speak on the matter. The students, of course, came up with their own new theories by the hour. One day there were to be unicorns, the next, merpeople from the lake.

The Daily Prophet brought new word of disappearances on a weekly basis, if not more, and having something so far off the norm was a welcome distraction, especially for students who had family in the Ministry of Magic, a dangerous place to be at that time. After the Battle of the Ministry, as it had come to be called, the Dark Lord could no longer hide his return to strength. Instead, he relied upon and strengthened the fear in everyone's mind that he had already infiltrated every corner of their world. While he hadn't truly gotten his hooks into the Ministry of Magic, it was certainly true that many there were already his faithful followers, and dozens of others were under his power.

The thin veil that had always separated the students of Slytherin from the rest of the school had solidified over the summer, and they were given a particularly wide berth these days. Many of their parents had been suspected or confirmed followers of the Dark Lord in his early years, and most of the students didn't quite trust their children to be any less deceitful in their loyalties.

Draco Malfoy, of course, adored this kind of treatment. It was the role he had been bred for his entire life, to be feared by his enemies, and revered by his followers. It was, indeed, the same outlook that had led Tom Marvolo Riddle to begin his ascent to power, decades before Draco's conception, though Draco didn't know this.

The shadow that had fallen over the wizarding world needed to be broken by a few rays of light, and Albus Dumbldore, of course, knew this better than anyone. His students needed something to hope for, something to be excited about, and perhaps, he hoped, something to bring them together as a sort of family. This Christmas Ball would be that something and inviting new delegations from Beuxbatons and Durmstrang would be the common factor to unite the students of Hogwarts under a common flag, greeting their guests as a whole and learning to combine their talents. He knew this would be a difficult achievement, to say the least, but an old man must be allowed his dreams, after all.

On the day Dumbledore made the official announcement regarding the Christmas Ball, the Golden Trio was sitting in the Great Hall, waiting for breakfast to begin. It was a Wednesday, in the last week of September, and although they had Potions first thing with their least favorite instructor, they were chatting happily with the few other Gryffindors, though most were still in bed. Hermione was trying to help Neville with his Advanced Herbology essay, though she wasn't in the class, but Harry and Ron were caught up in conversation about the upcoming rumored ball.

"But don't you suppose," mused Ron, pulling Hermione out of her deep thoughts of snapping crabgrass, "that there'd be a reason for it? If there were a Christmas Ball, I mean?"

"Dumbledore has a reason for just about everything, doesn't he?" offered Seamus Finnegan, shrugging. "Who's to say we'll ever know, though?"

"I imagine," piped up Neville, who was looking distractedly down as his ink-spotted parchment, "he's trying to build up our morale, you know, since You-Know-Who is back to power. And it wouldn't hurt that a dance might bring us closer together as a school. Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat are always saying how we need to be united to face dark times. Well, that's now, isn't it?" he finished, looking up at the mildly surprised faces of his classmates.

"That's very true, Neville," Hermione replied softly, glancing back at the Slytherin table. There was almost a dark glow around the students, huddled together against the animosity that seemed to be always directed at them these days. "I'm sure that's exactly what Professor Dumbledore's looking to happen. We've got a few minutes left; let's finish this up before breakfast starts." They bent their heads in, reading over the essay together. Every few moments, Hermione would tap her quill on something Neville had written, and whisper gently in his ear as he scratched her corrections onto another, clean parchment.

Harry watched the deft motions of Hermione's quill hand with interest. He was always so fascinated by her hands as they moved so gracefully against the long white feather quill. It had taken him weeks at Hogwarts to master the art of writing with a quill and ink. In primary school with the Dursleys, he'd only ever used pencils and ballpoint pens on clean, lined sheets of white paper. The rough surface of the slightly yellow parchment had taken a while to get used to, as well, but Hermione never seemed to have faltered, writing her quick, neat notes from the first day in classes.

Hermione glanced up and caught Harry's eye. She grinned at him with an exasperated look in her eye before tucking back into her work with Neville. He smiled back at her and quickly turned to the conversation around him, not wanting her to think more of the glance than was necessary. She certainly didn't need to know that he watched her every chance he got, or that he noticed the smallest details about her, like the way her hair got bushier each time she ran her fingers through it in frustration.

When she inadvertently caught Harry's eye, Hermione tried to play it off as a moment of irritation with Neville, and quickly pulled her hair down across her face to hide the slight flush that always crept across her face when he looked at her like that. She knew it wasn't original, having a crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived, and nor did she think she had half a chance against any of the other girls at Hogwarts. When she had first heard about the upcoming Christmas Ball, she had felt only relief that Harry's interest in Cho Chang seemed to have dissipated, and a pang as she realized he would surely find someone more interesting soon enough.

She didn't want Harry Potter, just her friend Harry, whom she knew to be brave and strong, smart and caring, and any other positive adjective she could bring to mind. How she would love for him to kiss her, with those lips that grinned at her in that heart-breakingly familiar way, to hold her close in his arms. She wanted to kiss the scar that had caused him so much pain. But most of all she wanted to make his pain disappear. After the terrible media storms of the past two years, she dreamed of running away with Harry, through the Forbidden Forest, away from Hogwarts and the whole wizarding world. They could be together, apart from the war and Lord Voldemort and the worry that she knew he felt from being the Chosen One. But Harry would simply not be Harry if he would ever agree to such a selfish act of cowardice, and Hermione would not have had him any other way. As if she could have had him at all.

So lost was Hermione in her romantic thoughts that she didn't notice Neville reaching across her for his textbook until he had already knocked her quill out of her hand. It clicked gently against the edge of the table before landing on the floor. She started slightly and reached down for the quill, only to see that the tip had snapped. With an irritated groan, she rifled through her bag for a fresh quill, before remembering that Lavender had borrowed her spare quill earlier in the week and never returned it. She reached across the table to ask Lavender for her quill back, but found Harry's hand outstretched with his own quill, offering it to her.

"Oh," Hermione said, startled, "thank you."

"You're welcome."

She reached out to take the quill, her fingertips brushing against Harry's knuckles as she did so. Her eyes locked with Harry's for just a moment. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—to explain the caress, but was interrupted by peals of laughter from Parvati and Lavender from across the table. They jumped at the sudden shrill noise, and when Hermione turned to see what her idiotic classmates were laughing about, she found the two silly girls eyeing the place where, she realized with embarrassment, her fingers were still touching Harry's. The flush crept up her face again and she quickly turned away to help Neville finish his essay, trying desperately to keep her mind on the crabgrass.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked him suspiciously once they had filled their plates and began eating.

Ron glanced behind him at Hermione—who was now going over the previous lesson's potions homework with Neville with a decidedly pained look on her face—before muttering, "You saw Lavender and Parvati just now."

It was Harry's turn to blush scarlet as he whispered back, "And what of it?"

Ron ignored the hint of a threat in Harry's voice and went on to say, "Oh please, it's not like either of you are being subtle about it."

"What are you on about?" Harry demanded furiously.

"Aren't you two secretly dating?" There was the slightest accusatory tone to Ron's voice, though he tried to keep it light-hearted.

Luckily, breakfast appeared at the table that moment, and the hall filled with noise as students excitedly fill their plates. Conversation lagged as they grabbed of the offered kippers, eggs, fruit, and toast. Harry greedily drank down a glass of pumpkin juice both to avoid Ron's question and quench the dryness in his mouth that seemed to appear every time he came in close contact with Hermione. He certainly hadn't expected that from Ron, of all people, but all that came to mind in response was, _if only_. He glanced at Hermione surreptitiously to make sure she hadn't heard what Ron said, but she was still involved in Neville's paper.

"No," he said carefully, allowing Hermione to pass them the ham. "Why would you think that?"

Ron looked at Harry incredulously, wondering how his friend could be so thick, and waited until Hermione's attention was fully refocused on Neville before answering. "Well," he said, suddenly uncomfortable as he realized his assumption might have been wrong, "I mean—you're always—that is—" Harry raised one eyebrow slightly, letting Ron know how feeble his suspicions sounded, despite how much he wished Ron was right. "Look mate," Ron said, trying again to verbalize his thoughts, "it's pretty clear that you've been ogling her for the last few months. I don't know when it happened, and I don't want to know if anything's happened between you two, but it's getting to where more than just me have noticed."

That caught Harry's attention. "What do you mean, more than you have noticed? And I'm not saying you're right, by the way," he added quickly, shutting down Ron's suddenly surprised expression.

"Well," Ron began, "I heard Lavender and Parvati talking in the common room yesterday, and they were just sure that you and Hermione have been dating secretly for weeks. They said something about how you never touch each other anymore, like you're trying to keep people from noticing, but they said that you're not being very subtle, that it's really obvious." He shrugged apologetically, then continued, "And if they've have already figured it out, pretty soon the whole school—"

"But there's nothing going on!" Harry exploded quietly. "There's nothing that they can have figured out, because we're not together!"

"You don't sound happy about that, mate." Ron stared at him knowingly. "I felt the same way, third year. It's only normal when you're around a girl that long, that eventually you'll, well, notice she's a girl. It's okay, mate. I only felt that way for a few months, and then it went away. Just try to act more normally around her, and no one will be any the wiser. It'll go away on its own after a while, and everything will go back to normal."

This sounded like perfectly sage advice. The only problem, Harry thought, was Ron's assumption that the way he felt was new and that it would go away. He'd never stopped to consider how he felt about the female edge of their triangle, but if he sat down with himself, Harry had to admit that he'd first noticed she was more than just a friend to him at the end of their second year. After killing the basilisk, as he felt the venom coursing through his body, edging toward his heart, his only conscious thought was that the danger to Hermione was now gone. He knew that the teachers would reanimate all of the snake's victims, and that there would be no further attack against the Muggleborns of Hogwarts. It wasn't until years later, however, that he had acknowledged that as more than a spasm of his dying mind and realized how deep his feeling for Hermione ran, or how long he had loved her without ever saying so.

Harry looked away from Ron, to see Hermione's forehead deeply furrowed as she read through Neville's essay, periodically crossing through phrases and scribbling corrections in what Harry knew would be her perfect, tiny handwriting. The shape of her brow really was quite exquisite, he realized, perfectly rounding into her delicate cheekbones and leading down to her lips, now pursed in exasperation. As she worked, Neville was frantically copying down every new word onto a fresh piece of parchment. In his desperation, Neville's quill caught the edge of the ink bottle, sending the black liquid flowing across the table. As Neville gasped in horror, Harry was impressed at how coolly Hermione cleaned the spilled ink with a flick of her wand before turning back to Neville's essay.

She asked Neville something, and he pulled out a watch in response, indicating that they were nearly out of time to finish his assignment before they had to leave for Potions. With a quick glance at the head table, Hermione shifted so that her actions would not be visible from the front of the Great Hall. Harry leaned back slightly, to see all of the ink from Neville's essay flowing into her wand. She muttered an incantation he couldn't quite hear and the ink began pouring back out onto the newest parchment Neville had just produced from his bag. As Harry watched, the puddle of black ink slowly separated, spreading across the paper and into the essay Hermione had just corrected, all in Neville's messy, loopy handwriting. Harry could not suppress the smile of adoration that crept across his face. Hermione's goodness, her talent, and her willingness to help others never ceased to amaze him, no matter how often she proved herself. Added to her own natural beauty, Harry didn't wonder how easily Krum had fallen for her, and found himself wondering how it had taken him so long to notice for himself how incredible she was. She smiled at Neville, who was thanking her over and over for her help, and Harry knew that she would never ask Neville for a single thing in return. His Hermione was just too good of a person for that.

"So, yeah?" Harry was pulled out of his private thoughts by Ron slugging his shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, hitting Ron back. Hermione looked at them over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at their boyishness.

"Oi, mate!" Ron replied. "Were you listening at all?"

"Erm…to what?" Wanting the entire train of discussion to be over, Harry began shoveling his food into his mouth, barely tasting the delicious morning concoctions of the school elves.

Ron rolled his eyes in annoyance at his two vacant friends, then lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, "I said, I can tell Lavender that you and Hermione have broken it off, so no one will bug either of you about it! And you get to keep being all weird and spacey, and everyone will think it's just a broken heart. And I'll get to be Lavender's new favorite person to talk to for gossip," he added, sounding quite pleased at his ability to help himself while helping a friend.

"Um, no, thanks," Harry said, suddenly no longer hungry. "I'll take care of it myself. Thanks for telling me, though."

"Oh, uh, sure," Ron said uncertainly.

Hermione kept Ron from saying anymore by leaning in to remind them of the homework they needed to do before Astronomy that following night.

They all sat in silence after that. The other two were cleaning up their breakfast while Harry still sat, pushing eggs around his plate glumly. Ron glared down at him sulkily, but Harry just ignored him. He didn't know how to tell his best friend that he thought their other best friend might just be the love of his life, but he knew that the breakfast table wasn't the right setting.

As the plates disappeared into the kitchen below, Dumbledore rose to his feet, effectively silencing any remaining conversation in the Great Hall. The tension in the air was thick. Dumbledore didn't make announcements at breakfast, except at the beginning and end of term, and on holidays. He would surely address the recent grinding of the rumor mill if he had anything to say.

"We have made every attempt at secrecy in planning an event for this coming winter," he began smiling knowingly, "so I assume you are all aware of its existence?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"There will be a Christmas Ball this year," said Dumbledore, smiling. He was momentarily interrupted by a loud wave of cheering that passed through the hall that was quickly shushed by other students eager to hear more. He continued, "Students of any age will be welcome to attend, though anyone under fourth year will be required to check in with their Head of House periodically throughout the evening, and only those in the sixth and seventh years will be permitted out of their dormitories past twelve o' clock. All younger students will be escorted to their houses by their Prefects at midnight."

More cheers from the student body, and grumbles of complaint from the younger students.

"There is more to this evening than just a celebration for Hogwarts students. Because housing students from Beuxbatons and Durmstrang during the Tri-Wizard Tournament was so successful two years ago, we have invited those same schools to select another delegation of students and staff to join us for our Christmas celebration, along with the…surviving champions."

A shudder of chills ran through the listening students as they realize the weight of Dumbledore's choice of words. Harry noticed several people glancing over at him, and he worked very hard to keep his eyes fixed on Dumbledore. Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving Harry a knowing look. He felt a delicate hand over his on the table, and looked back to see Hermione gazing at him sorrowfully. He flashed a quick smile to ease the worry he knew she always felt for him. He didn't deserve someone as caring as her, especially not when all he could think about was the feel of her soft skin on the back of his hand, when she was just trying to comfort him from his memories of Cedric. Harry swallowed hard to keep his emotions in check in the presence of such loving friends, and looked back to Dumbledore, finding the old wizard's deep blue eyes boring into his own. The look he gave the three friends was far too knowing for Harry's taste, and he blinked to avoid his piercing eyes.

Dumbledore looked away from Harry and clapped his hands loudly and dismissed them all to their morning classes. The moment of tension was over within seconds, and the sounds of scraping benches and excited chatter as everyone got to their feet and ran out of the hall, desperate to beat the teachers to class so they could compare answers to the night's homework and discuss this latest news.

"The champions? Does that mean Krum will be here?" Seamus asked excitedly to no one in particular as they all collected their things.

Hermione gasped quietly. Ron was too excited at the prospect of his Quidditch hero arriving to notice, but Harry heard and took his time reaching for his bag while Ron moved ahead with the crowd. Hermione was waiting politely for Neville to finish putting away his things, and Harry took the opportunity to speak to her without being overheard.

"What's wrong?" he asked her under his breath. "Don't you want to see Viktor again?"

Hermione looked up into his emerald green eyes, and blinked in surprise. She hadn't realized she'd been loud enough to hear, but she couldn't help skipping a heartbeat when she realized how well he'd been able to interpret her body language. "No, not really," she said quietly, hoping no one else would hear. The last time she had seen Viktor, he had proposed marriage to her, inviting her to join him in Bulgaria and finish her schooling at Durmstrang. Without knowing how to answer, Hermione had simply replied that she would need to finish her education at Hogwarts before considering anything of the sort. Viktor was a wonderful person, and she enjoyed spending time with him, despite his inability to say her name correctly, but she wasn't sure she liked him enough to marry him, and her increasing feelings for Harry were only complicating the situation. She had last seen Viktor in the last week of the summer, and in the month since then, he had sent her letter after letter, demanding her answer.

Harry let it go at that. If Hermione wanted to talk, she would. Until then, he'd let her be. But he couldn't help wondering why she would look so utterly terrified at the thought of seeing her long-distance sweetheart. The only reason he could think of was that maybe they were no longer on speaking terms, which worked out for him just fine. If they were no longer an item, surely he would have heard about it somewhere, the Daily Prophet would have mentioned something, so he didn't dare hope it was that. But still, he wondered if she doubted Krum's affections for her, and if maybe he could use that to his advantage. If Hermione didn't want to run into Krum at the party, then she would need a date as an excuse to avoid him. Or maybe, Harry thought, a grin stealing across his face, maybe she wouldn't want to go at all, and they could spend the whole night in the common room together. Harry wasn't fond at all of dancing, especially after the Yule Ball, so he would almost like it better to spend time alone with Hermione. The thought of an entire night with Hermione made him smile wider. They could play chess, talk about anything, and maybe she'd get tired and fall asleep against him on one of the red loveseats scattered across the room. Reminding himself that that wouldn't be happening, Harry went back to what Dumbledore was saying about the party with a slightly deflated mood.

As Harry moved to join the throng, Hermione reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll tell you about Viktor tonight, okay?" she whispered.

Harry nodded, and when Hermione moved her hand away, a tingling spread from the spot where she had touched until he felt like his whole upper body was glowing. He realized suddenly that he hadn't made physical contact with Hermione in quite a while, and that Ron had been very right about his subconscious efforts not to touch her.

"Hurry up, Harry!" Hermione said frantically, grabbing his hand and slipping between people to lead him downstairs. "I really want to find out how we did on the essay for last lesson!" Harry groaned, remembering the half-completed fodder he'd turned in the previous Wednesday. Only Hermione's hand on his and the excitement and worry bubbling in her eyes kept him moving forward. He squeezed her hand slightly, earning a surprised backward glance, but followed his best friends dutifully toward the dungeons.

When they reached the doorway into Snape's classroom, Snape had not yet arrived, and so there was nowhere else for Hermione to lead Harry. Wishing he could think of a good reason not to, Harry let go of her hand, lest someone notice and think it meant more than it did. Hermione flashed him a winning smile over her shoulder as Snape came around the corner. Having been the last to arrive, Harry, Ron and Hermione were the first students he saw, and a vicious smile curled his lips.

"Ah, Potter," Snape said with slow malice, ushering the students into the dungeon, but stopping the last three at the door. "You and Mr. Weasley will be staying after class to discuss the poorly contrived waste of my time you both tried to pass off as essays last Wednesday. Pay extra attention in class today, as that will be the topic for your makeup assignment."

Harry noticed several Slytherins, mostly those near Malfoy, smirking openly at his embarrassment. Most of the Gryffindors just rolled their eyes, by now all too familiar with Snape's favoritism toward his own house and too distrustful of anything Slytherin to openly make note of it. Ron made a rude motion behind Snape's back, which made Harry and Hermione laugh, but it was the slight squeeze Hermione gave his left hand that really brightened the outlook for Harry's day. He entwined his fingers with hers for just a moment before entering the classroom behind Ron, then let her go with regret.

~%%~

"Two scrolls! Two more scrolls by the end of the week!" Ron was still fuming about Snape's punishment for their poor work. "Two entire scrolls just on the twelfth use of Dragon's Blood!"

"Well Ron," Hermione said in placating tone, "It _is_ the most important of the twelve uses, and there really are quite a few angles you could take on the topic. You both really should have put more effort into the first essay. I spent hours on it, and he barely passed me."

"But still!" Ron continued on, undeterred by Hermione's never-failing logic. "I couldn't even get one scroll on the first eleven of the uses, how does he expect us to have two scrolls on just one of them? Harry, you were right; he wants to kill you. He wants us to die trying."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to balance his knowledge that Hermione was right with his desire to commiserate with Ron about the horrendous assignment they had just been given. He turned to Hermione, grinning, as they made their way to Transfiguration together, angry Ron still leading the way and ranting.

"Hermione," he started slowly, "do you think you could—"

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "You know I wouldn't let you write about that alone. You might decide to say it's used in magical cosmetics! Besides," she added quietly, slowing down so that Ron pulled ahead and couldn't hear her next words, "after Ron's asleep, we'll have time to talk about Viktor. There are things you should know before the Durmstrang lot gets here."

Harry gave her a worried look, but she quickly wiped it off of his face by reaching out for his hand again so they could run to catch up with Ron—still ranting, Harry guessed by his manically waving arms—halfway down the hallway. He seemed not to have noticed they were no longer right behind him, but as a thrill ran up Hermione's hand to Harry's arm, he couldn't have cared less who noticed.

Unluckily for him, it was Draco Malfoy who did.

~%%~

**A/N**: Fair warning to new readers. Following chapters will probably not be this long. This was originally the first two chapters, and I thought they sucked. In reviewing and revamping the early chapters to make a bit more sense, they got much longer. I didn't want to split these up again, but just so you know, most chapters will be around 2000-2500 words (about half this length).

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter took so long to get up, but it's a good long one for your enjoyment! Also, if you enjoy **Twilight**, I'm doing beta work for **beccalyse**, author of **Eyes Turned Skyward** and **Darkness and Light**, both vamp, author's world, with canon pairings, they're just her take on Twilight, with a little less love-at-first-sight and a lot more character development. Both are fabulous, and you should check them both out, though I believe her current in-progress is **Eyes Turned Skyward**.

~%%~

In a dark room, lit only by a fireplace and a few low-burning candles, a dark figure knelt before a dais, if it could be called such. The room was clearly that of a well-off family, but the enormous platform was still out of place, so high that it was nearly level with the second-story chandelier hanging over the ornate ballroom. Upon the platform was a large slab, which appeared to be made of concrete, but which, upon closer inspection was shown to be made of thousands of tiny live snakes, each twisting through the object.

The figure kneeling on the polished floor wore a black cloak with the hood up, obscuring any identifying features. "My Lord," it whispered in a hushed male voice. "My Lord, please, I have brought you news of the Potter boy."

~%%~

"Harry," Hermione whispered again, shaking him. "Harry, wake up."

"Wasamatter?" he asked stupidly, fixing his glasses so he could see straight. It took a moment to orient himself in the Gryffindor common room, not on the polished floor of a grand estate. He shook the dream from his head and joined into the conversation.

"C'mon, Harry, we're almost done," Ron said, sounding just as sleepy as Harry felt. "Just a few more inches, and we'll be all finished. I think I'll end mine about how Dumbledore discovered it, and how great he was. I can fill it up with that for sure. And you can write about how the discovery of the twelve uses made dragon's blood so bloody expensive."

"Ron, I really think you should be focusing on the _uses_, rather than—"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione!" he interrupted. "Just because _your_ essay was so good the first time doesn't mean we're all stretching for godly perfection. You've already made us do them days before they're due. We just need to get these done so we can go to bed."

"Well, the longer you have to edit them, the better," Hermione replied acidly. "It's not as though you crank out the highest-quality writing, you know. Maybe for your next essay, I'll just let you both fend for yourselves."

"Hold on, now," Harry interrupted, suddenly much more awake. "_I_ wasn't arguing with you. Why do I get punished for Ron being a grumpy prat?"

"Guilty by association," she replied promptly, though he caught a gleam of teasing behind her stern words.

It took them another forty minutes of pigheadedly beating their way through the exhaustion for Ron and Harry to write the last six inches on their potions essay, but finally, as a faraway clock stuck half past one, they were finished with their dreaded potions work. Though, as Hermione reminded Ron, "You ought to read it again tomorrow night, to make sure it's all coherent. You know how you two get when you're tired. It comes out all nonsensical and blithery."

"_We_ get nonsensical," Ron began, smirking at Harry, "but _you_ can say things like 'blithery'?"

Hermione flushed pink and began to tediously place everything back into her book bag, though as she'd just been watching and instructing the two boys as they wrote their own essays, there was precious little for her to put back. Ron was quickly stuffing everything he had been using into his pack, with no care for the objects he was packing. He caught Hermione's pained look as he threw a dirty quill into his potions textbook to keep his place, and continued in a more precise fashion.

Harry, however, told the two that he was going to spend some time in front of the fire. When Ron expressed his inability to understand why Harry would stay up even later, when there was a perfectly good bed available upstairs, Harry just replied, "I suppose I enjoy the solitude."

Ron shook his head, muttering under his breath as he wound up the stairs to the fifth year boys' dormitory. After making sure Ron wasn't going to reappear before morning, Hermione settled on the couch next to Harry with a deep sigh of contentment.

"Well," she commented lightly, "that was dreadful."

"The essay, or Ron?" Harry replied, smiling.

"Both." They laughed quietly for a moment at their friend's never-ceasing temper.

Harry scooted closer to her on the couch, feeling unsure how to proceed, and wondering if this was going to be a shoulder-to-cry-on situation. "Do you still want to talk about Krum?" he asked gently. She paused for a moment, trying to formulate her answer, but he mistook her silence for hesitation, and added quickly, "If you've changed your mind, it's alright, you know. You don't have to tell me anything about it."

"It's not that," she replied quickly, "it's just _so_ embarrassing, and I haven't told anyone about it yet. Not even my parents." She sounded ashamed at the last, but Harry didn't comment on it.

"What could possibly be embarrassing about dating one of the most famous Quidditch players in the world?" Harry teased.

"Oh, well, yes, that's part of it, of course," she replied seriously. "I mean, it's not like I can really expect him to, you know, to put down roots, or even be in Britain with me. Even after we're finished with school next year, he'll need to stay in Bulgaria to be with the team. I don't know if I want to be so far away from…from all this." She gestured to the common room around them, but Harry knew she meant Hogwarts and everything in her world she was used to. He hoped very much that that included him.

"You don't sound very upset about that," Harry noted, but immediately regretted it at the hurt look on her face.

"Don't I?" she muttered to herself. "It's difficult to get very…worked up about him, you see, because he's such a reserved person. I mean, it's not like you or Ron—well, more you, I suppose, than Ron—where I can just sit down and talk about anything. He's very self-centered, you know, I mean how could he not be, as famous as he is, but it does make it very difficult to hold a conversation about anything that I find interesting.

"We don't really have any connection at all, and yet he—" she stopped suddenly, flushing madly.

"He what? " When she refused to answer, Harry felt a familiar weight settle in his stomach.

"Oh, I can't say it!" Hermione finally burst out. "I have to go get the letters. I'll be right back." Without another word, she rushed up the staircase to the girls' dormitories, leaving Harry to all of the worst possible things he could think of to cause her such embarrassment. He wondered—hoped?—briefly that Krum had dumped her in a letter, leaving the way open for he, Harry to mend to her broken, tender heart.

He knew in his gut that someone as famous as Krum wouldn't be able to understand someone as selfless and intelligent as Hermione. He had to stop to remind himself that he was probably far more famous than Krum would ever be, and tried wildly to discern the difference between them. Any argument he tried, however, only made him seem more arrogant and prideful than the last. He finally had to admit that Krum's fame had nothing to do with how bad he was for Hermione. Perhaps it was at fault indirectly, he wondered, but only because it necessitated Krum's constant distance from her. Harry had to wonder if the situation with Viktor Krum would be different if he had been able to be close to Hermione, if they had been able to grow up together the way she had with he and Ron.

Harry didn't enjoy this train of thought at all, but to his relief, Hermione reappeared before his mind could wander too far down that unpleasant road. She held in her hands a thick stack of folded parchments, but Harry noticed how she held it away from her body, as though it contained something she feared might attack her.

Taking the parchment from her, Harry looked up at the letters in trepidation, wondering whether or not this was something he wanted to know. When Harry turned a questioning look to Hermione, she waved him off and said, "Just read it."

The beginning of the first letter was fairly typical, Harry thought, hello, he'd missed her, how were her parents, and say hello for me vhen you talk to them again, von't you? He could almost hear Krum's thick accent saying the sickly sweet words to Hermione. He continued on in a stream of truly awful poetic language, describing everything about Hermione, from the color of her hair and the feel of her hands in his own—which Harry could certainly understand—to the smell of her hair—Harry reminded himself to experience this for himself—and the curve of her body, right down to an appreciative description of her backside.

At this last phrase, Harry put down the letter and looked up at Hermione. "What exactly am I supposed to be taking out of this? If I want to know what your arse looks like, I'll wait for you to walk away." His annoyance at Krum's overly detailed description of Hermione made him swear, and the extremely embarrassed expression on her face made him instantly regret his crassness.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said quickly, floundering for a better excuse than flaming jealousy. "I just—I'm sorry, but—it made me mad that he talks about you that way. You know I just—I think of you as a sister, and I'm just not used to listening to…things like that…about you."

Hermione, of course, knew that Harry only cared for her in a strictly platonic manner, but it still stung to hear him deny any real feelings out loud. Inside, she wondered with a thrill if Harry really was going to wait until she walked away, but outwardly, she only said, "No, I understand. I should have warned you about that. I guess I forgot about it. Just—just skip down to the bottom half."

She watched carefully as his eyes wandered down to the second half of the parchment. She knew when he had reached the important part when his eyes bugged out in shock. He flipped through the letters, page after page of Krum wanting to know her answer. In some, he promised her a life of happiness, spouting poetry of the life he would give her. In others, he seemed angry, and accused her of leading him on, while still others had a melancholy tone, begging Hermione to end his suffering. All told, Harry held at least a dozen letters, all demanding to know in one form or another whether or not Hermione would give Krum her hand in marriage.

Every fiber of Harry's being felt as though it had been filled with lead, except his heart, which pounded away like a hummingbird's. Hermione with Krum. Married. Someone else's for the rest of their lives. He _could_ not lose her. Not like this, not when he'd never even had a chance to begin with.

But he had had a chance, hadn't he? All those years, when she was right there and he never took notice, too busy pining away for silly, simpering Cho, when Hermione was there all the time. It was indeed his own fault, and now all he could do was man up and pretend for her sake.

"Er—well," he said, clearly his throat uncomfortably. It took him a moment to work up the enthusiasm that was appropriate to the situation. "Well, congratulations! I mean, that's—that's really, really…great for you both."

Hermione giggled at his false enthusiasm. "You don't need to pretend. I'm telling him no. I just don't know how to do it."

"Oh." Harry let out a _whoosh_ of relief. "Erm, why?"

She sighed as well. "It's difficult to feel any great affection for someone who's so far away. I mean," she added, "it wouldn't be like with you or Ron, where I've known for years. I've already told him I'm not leaving Hogwarts, especially not for a place like Durmstrang."

Harry nearly choked on his satisfaction hearing her statement. "So," he began, hesitant to ask, "are you staying with him, or…?"

Hermione smiled softly, trying to remind herself that Harry was only asking as a concerned friend. "I don't know. I only wanted you to know because he's…well, he's jealous of you. And that might come across while they're here."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's just that he gets so possessive of me, especially since he's not actually here. I'm really worried for you. And Ron, I suppose," she added quickly, "but mostly you. After all of Rita Skeeter's articles, he's always thought you'd try to steal me from him. I've told him how silly that is, and that you would never be interested in me that way. And besides, you'd never do something so ignoble, but he just won't believe me."

"Why does he think I would steal you away from him? He loves you, and, well, you love him, don't you?" Harry asked, trying very hard to understand where she was going with this.

"I fancy him," she said. "But I don't love him. I mean, I don't _think_ I do," she added doubtfully, killing a little of Harry's excitement. "I've never, really, ever really been in love, I don't think." But even as she said it, Hermione looked into her best friend's eyes and wondered if that was actually true. She buried her face in her hands, embarrassed at her own inability to feel what she was supposed to. "Maybe everything would be better if we got married," she mused, much to Harry's chagrin. "I'd move to Bulgaria and we could be together, so he wouldn't have to be as possessive, and really, that's the only thing about him I don't like. Until he asked me to—well, until he asked me, I very much enjoyed the letters he sent, and we had lovely correspondence. But now, I'm not so sure if that was really him. Perhaps his real nature is what's coming out now…" She trailed off thoughtfully, mindlessly resting her head lightly on Harry's shoulder.

"I—I feel as though," Harry began, suddenly very uncomfortable with both the topic and the unexpected contact. "I feel like maybe you should be talking to a girl about this?"

Hermione looked up at him. She laughed in embarrassment, sat up, and replied, "But I don't have any girlfriends. And all the girls in our year have been wondering for years why I've not gone for you, so they wouldn't be very much help. You've lived with the fame your whole life. I thought maybe you could push that part of Viktor aside and just talk about the person behind the broomstick." She grinned at her own bad Quidditch joke, but Harry's mind was caught on the idea that other girls their year thought they should be together. He could feel an electric charge zinging around the spot on his shoulder where her head still rested gently. In another situation, Harry might have said they were cuddling.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "I'm only comfortable with being famous because, well, because I've always been famous, like you said. I'm just used to people looking at me funny. I never had a choice. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs until I came here. It just all sort of sprung on me all at once. I just had to become comfortable with always being uncomfortable, so I really don't think it's the same thing at all. I've never really done anything for my fame, at least not the way Viktor has. He at least earned his big name, so maybe my perspective isn't actually that great."

"But," Hermione floundered. "Well, then maybe it's just him." She seemed lost to Harry, but he wasn't sure how to comfort her. Hermione nodded again, and started crying. "I think it might just be him. I keep trying to tell myself that it'd be easier if I could be with him more often, but I just don't believe that's true. I mean, if he's this bad when we're apart, it only stands to reason that he'd be that much more controlling if I were actually his. I don't want to be with him anymore, but I just don't know what to do! In his last letter he said he wouldn't ask again until we could see each other. I just didn't think that would be so soon."

"It's OK Hermione, come here," he took her in his arms, and held her tightly, while she cried into his robes. As upset as she was, Harry had trouble concentrating on that when she was distracting him with how well she seemed to fit into the circle of his arms.

After a few minutes, her tears began to subside. "I'm getting your front all wet," she said, looking up at him, and smiling weakly.

"It's okay," he assured. "Whatever it takes to make you feel better. You have to know how much I hate seeing you like this."

"Thank you Harry," she said, a fresh wave of sobs beginning. "Why are you so wonderful to me? I don't deserve a friend like you."

Harry rocked her back and forth as she continued to cry. He couldn't help but feel a little awkward as he pulled her into his lap, but she sobbed into his front with reckless abandon, so he assumed she wasn't too upset with the new position. He rubbed her shoulders gently, trying to calm her down, but for the moment, she was inconsolable. He had never seen Hermione this upset, not even in their first year, when Ron's words had chased her to the girls' bathroom on Halloween. The pain she was in made him want to punch Viktor, and he suddenly found himself wondering what it would take to get to Bulgaria to do it.

Harry felt himself falling into unconsciousness as she calmed, so comfortable he was with Hermione's warmth pressed against his chest. She seemed to have stopped crying, and even drifted off herself, but he couldn't bring himself to move her. The situation with Krum seemed to have taken a lot out of her, and he wanted to let her sleep for a while longer. She shifted delicately to rest her head on his other shoulder, turning her face up toward his. The motion brought him abruptly to his senses, and he woke with a start, realizing that she sat curled in his lap, fast asleep.

The urge to kiss Hermione was nearly overwhelming, and the way her lips fell open as she breathed in her sleep was not helping Harry's self-control.

"Hermione?" he whispered softly. "Hermione, are you awake?"

She made a soft noise in response, but Harry was quite sure it wasn't a conscious reply. Holding his breath, praying her eyes wouldn't open, Harry placed a small kiss on her cheek, near the corner of her mouth. He stayed very still after pulling away, then torturously slow, placed another kiss fully on her lips. He gasped slightly as a wonderful, strange warmth filled him head to toe. His fingertips were tingling, and he relished the soft feel of her lips. Harry had to control himself and pull away before she woke up to his inappropriate behavior.

He stared down at her for several minutes, amazed at himself for what he'd done. She smiled a little half-smile in her sleep, and the contented look on her peacefully sleeping filled Harry with that warm tingling feeling all over. He wondered how she could be sleeping comfortably tucked in under his chin the way she was. It looked to him like a painfully cramped position. No matter how much he wanted to keep her there in his arms, Harry knew that they both needed to get to their own beds to get a decent night's sleep.

"Hermione," he said again, but she slept on without hearing him. "Hermione, you need to wake up," he said a little louder.

She finally showed signs of consciousness, shifting quietly and blinking several times into Harry's face. He lifted her into a sitting position while she adjusted her eyes to the weak light from the dying fireplace. Hermione seemed confused to find herself in the common room, rather than in her own bed. "Oh," she said, looking up at Harry. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean to fall asleep! Oh, what time is it?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, "after two, maybe. We should go to bed. Only if you're feeling better, though, of course?" He made the last a question, looking down at her in genuine concern.

"Oh," she said in surprise. She seemed to have forgotten about her previous outburst. "Oh, yes, of course, I—I'm fine, Harry. Thank you."

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying up longer if you need me to." By which of course, he meant that he would rather stay up with his beautiful Hermione than go to bed and wake up to find this night had been a dream.

"No," she said sleepily. "No, it's alright Harry. You need to get to sleep, too."

After making sure she was awake enough to make it up to her own bed, Harry watched Hermione go up the stairs with a wistful look on his face. She turned around just before she was out of sight, and gave him a small smile, whispering, "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Hermione."

~%%~

Hermione crept into her dormitory, smiling softly to herself. Lavender and Parvati were deeply asleep, but she tiptoed to her wardrobe for her pajamas, careful not to disturb them.

Hermione lay in her bed later that night, thinking about Harry. Specifically, she thought of the fact that he had kissed her. She had only been kissed once by Krum, and it had been a wet, sloppy adventure, nothing she'd been keen to repeat. But Hermione had to admit to herself that Harry's soft, relatively dry lips had felt delightful upon her own. Had she not been so frightened that he would stop, she had been tempted to kiss him back. She felt somewhat guilty for having pretended to be asleep, but she doubted he'd have kissed her awake.

She was equally frightened that, having kissed her once, Harry wouldn't have the slightest inclination to do so again. Perhaps it had just been an experiment of his, to see if she would react, or to see if he could get away with it. Hermione knew, or at least wanted to believe that Harry wouldn't have taken advantage of her like that unless it was truly something he wanted to do.

She fell asleep that night thinking about her best friend. She knew that she couldn't bring up the kiss, or he'd know that she'd been awake for the whole thing. But she also knew that, unless he thought she was asleep, or alright with him kissing her, he would never try that again. The problem then became how to let him know that it was alright for him to kiss her again, without letting him know she'd been awake for the first one.

By the first light of dawn, Hermione was finally able to fall asleep from pure exhaustion, but was none the wiser as to how to show Harry how she felt without embarrassing them both.

~%%~

**A/N:** The link on my profile is for a picture of the ring, which is actually a French antique, but still is about three hundred years old, though I can't offer proof of goblin origins!

To dbzgtfan2004 and Ayrtha21keybladewielder, thank you so much for being my first two reviewers on this story! To the 166 other visitors who stopped in but didn't sign the guest book, rock on, keep reading, and, as always, review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** I'm trying to update as quickly as possible, but my first round of summer finals is coming up, so I'm trying to stay afloat there, as well. Next week, I should be able to update a couple of times, as the new classes start, so hopefully there won't be much homework yet! Again, check out this fic I'm working on with **beccalyse**, **Eyes Turned Skyward**. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!

~%%~

Harry dreamt.

~%%~

He was back in the same vast room, with the same platform and its strange mass of snakes, with the same hooded figure kneeling worshipfully on the floor.

"My Lord," it whispered in a hushed male voice. "My Lord, please, I have brought you news of the Potter boy."

The mass of snakes began to lift upward, as though they would crash upon the tiny worshipper like waves upon the sand. They rose into the form of a huge throne, and from their darkness emerged the Dark Lord.

"Lucius," he hissed cruelly. "Why have you disturbed my rest?"

"My Lord, please forgive me," he cried feebly, "but we have information on Harry Potter."

"Potter," Lord Voldemort repeated, flicking out a forked tongue. "I have thought of the boy much, of late." He laughed to himself, enjoying a private joke. "What have you come to tell me Lucius? Hurry, if you cannot bring me something useful this time, my Nagini will have you for a snack, just to keep you from bothering me again."

"Please, please, my Lord," Malfoy sobbed, "my son, at Hogwarts—"

"Ah yes, young Draco," he interrupted, smiling viciously at the stricken look on the father's face. "How is your son these days? Has he brought any recent glory upon your name or mine? The glory you promised me on the day he was born?"

"Yes, yes, my Lord, he has," Lucius replied, desperate now to be heard. "At Hogwarts, he saw, he saw—"

"Get on with it! _Crucio!_" he shrieked in a cold, high voice. Malfoy lay on the floor of his own family manor, screaming and begging in unimaginable pain.

In his throes of pain, Malfoy could only say, "Mudblood…Potter," over and over again. When he was once more able to speak freely, he clarified, "My son, Draco, witnessed Potter with the Muggleborn Hermione Granger. He said that they were holding hands in the corridor." His nose shriveled in obvious distaste. "Draco witnessed them together. He suspects a romance growing between them, if it has not already begun. The other students are speculating that they are trying to keep their relationship hidden—not that I blame him, a filthy Mudblood witch. I'd be hiding as well. Of course," he added quickly, "that has never been a problem in my family tree." There was a heavy hint of pride at the last.

"A new love?" Voldemort mused. "This could create exciting possibilities for us to use against him. Yes…" He trailed off into silence, forgetting the presence of the other man.

"My—my Lord?" Lucius began timidly. "Have you any word for me to return to my son at school?"

"Hmm, yes, yes I do." Lucius cringed at the tone, frightened of what might happen to his only son. "Tell him to keep watching. I want all the information he can gather on the Mudblood. If the situation changes in any way, I want to be informed immediately. If we are to make this work in our favor, we must stay a step ahead. Yes…"

Malfoy was dismissed shortly thereafter, leaving the Dark Lord to ponder the situation to himself.

"When I manage to control it, yes," he muttered, slitted eyes shut tight, "yes, then it will be easy to fool them."

He opened his eyes, bright red and glowing in his growing excitement. The iris glowed scarlet, sinking into the black depths of the pupil.

Voldemort closed his eyes again, muttering, "When I control it."

He opened his eyes.

A flash of green.

~%%~

Harry awoke.

He was covered in sweat in his own bed in Hogwarts, with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville all gathered around his bed, looking terrified.

"Harry, mate, are you alright?" Ron asked worriedly. "You were screaming in your sleep. You—you said, 'Mudblood,' mate. I—I—I've never heard you say that before. You said—something about You Know Who, and Hermione, and then you started screaming about Mudbloods."

"What?" Harry could remember nothing from his nightmare except the final flash of green. It reminded him of the dreams he'd had as a child about the night his parents died, before he'd known anything about his past, or magic. He couldn't remember anything except for that bright, glowing green. "I—what?"

"Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?" Neville offered nervously.

"No," Harry replied, already tired enough to sleep again. "No, it's all right. I'm sorry, it was just a nightmare. Go back to bed, all of you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Blimey, Harry," Seamus said uncertainly. "Are ye sure ye want to go back to sleep? Ye were kicking and screaming like someone was torturin' ye."

"No, really," Harry said again, fighting off unconsciousness. "It's nothing. I'm just—I'm just tired," he finished, punctuating with a yawn.

The other boys went back to bed, sharing concerned looks among them that Harry was too tired to be upset over. As Harry let the sleep take him over again, he tried to ignore the dull ache in his forehead, too tired to recognize it as his burning scar.

~%%~

When Harry met Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, he was surprised to see that he was not the only one suffering from a sleepless night. Both Ron and Hermione looked tired, but Hermione looked truly awful, as though she'd only slept a few hours. Her face was reddened and a bit splotchy, and her eyes were swollen nearly shut, though he saw her working an anti-swelling charm on herself over her eggs. She was nursing a rare mug of hot coffee filled with milk and sugar, but smiled at him fondly as he approached. He wondered if that was the result of having cried her eyes out into the rough fabric of his school robes the night before, but he knew better than to bring it up in front of anyone else. Harry didn't feel at all upset as he decided he would have to catch her alone later and make sure she was feeling alright about the Krum situation. He was sure that she hadn't looked that haggard when she'd gone to bed, but he had to admit, he'd been looking at her through a certain enhancing light at the time.

Harry took his place between his friends, shaking his head in awe at his own audacity the previous night. What had he been thinking, to kiss Hermione like that? Without her permission—worse, without her even having been aware of it. He was disgusted with himself for invading her space the way he had. At the same time, though, he couldn't help enjoying the memory of how beautiful she had been, asleep on his shoulder, sheltered in his arms. He shook his head again, reminding himself how far in the wrong he'd been.

Ron caught Harry's eye, questioning him wordlessly about his strange behavior. Harry responded, "Headache, didn't sleep much."

"I told you you should have gone to bed," Ron replied righteously, reaching for a cinnamon bun the size of his face. But Harry had trouble concentrating on his breakfast with as much verve as Ron was able to.

Next to him, Hermione sat in a deeply morose state, taking his self-deprecating behavior to mean a deep regret of his actions the night before. She wasn't surprised, of course, but she had to admit disappointment to herself. After spending the entire night waffling back and forth between telling herself he would regret it later and trying to think of how to get him to do it again if he didn't regret it, Hermione had allowed herself to hope that the one kiss—two, really, she reminded herself—would mean as much to Harry as it had to her. Surely, she understood now, surely it had been a practice for him. As the Boy Who Lived, Harry would always have his pick of any woman in the wizarding world, but inside Hogwarts, none of the girls were brave enough to approach him, and fame or not, Harry was not an outgoing person. So, of course it made sense that he would want to try things out on someone who would be willing. Failing that, on someone whom he knew would forgive him if they ever found out he'd kissed them in their unwilling sleep.

As she began to think about the implications of this, she found herself getting mad at Harry for kissing her. Yes, he'd thought she was asleep, but surely he'd been banking on her forgiveness, even if she'd woken up. And yes, he didn't know the depth of her feelings for him, but that was precisely the reason that civilized people didn't kiss one another without permission, especially when the other was your best friend.

The more reasonable part of Hermione's brain knew that Harry would never do something like that, and that perhaps he was feeling guilty for kissing her without permission. That would be far more in character for him. However, the more reasonable part of Hermione's brain was not in charge at the moment, and she allowed herself a brief moment where her emotions flooded through her, completely uncontrolled, and crashed through her body. She felt a seizing pain in the pit of her stomach, which she tried to ignore by eating a hearty breakfast to go with her bittersweet coffee. She knew she could not function properly during the day without some level of self-control, and wrote off the slight shaking in her hands as a side-effect of the coffee. She turned toward Ron and Harry, and in a chipper voice that did not betray her cracked heart, asked when they wanted to go over their essays again.

The two boys groaned, Hermione laughed and chided them for their laziness, then fluttered off to Arithmancy, reminding them not to be late to Divination. They groaned again, louder this time, and Hermione's laughter floated back to them through the Great Hall.

~%%~

**A/N**: I need **your opinion**. Like I said, I'll be busy with exam studying this week, so would you prefer that I **wait a while** and make it a good long chapter with the makeup and fluff, or would you rather go for the **instant gratification** of a chapter, and put off the fluff for a bit? Tell me in a review, even just a word or two!

Thanks to all my reviewers, especially xAmyBlackx, whose simple review of "WHY did you stop?" lit a fire under me to get this out to you tonight.

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Again, check out **beccalyse's**, new fic, **Learning How To Live**, EPOV companion to **Eyes Turned Skyward**. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!

~%%~

In Divination that day, they were studying "the delicate and underappreciated art of inducing a psychic trance," as Professor Trelawney put it, so Harry did not need to pretend to pay attention, a small gift for which he was thankful. His mind crawled with alternating self-disgust and crowing pride, never quite resolving on either. He had no attention to give to Trelawney, her subject usually boring at best now holding no pull whatsoever, not when his chocolate-eyed goddess was somewhere else in the castle, diligently taking notes on Arithmancy. Or perhaps not, he mused. Perhaps she had already read the chapter and taken notes, and was now only giving the instructor her rapt, undivided attention, her thoughts untroubled by the night before. No matter how much he thought of Hermione and how oblivious she was, he could not stop the battle raging between his conscience and his selfishness.

On the one hand, he had kissed Hermione, completely betraying the rather misplaced trust she had in him. She had come to him to discuss her problems with Viktor Krum, a man intimidating in different ways both on and off the Quidditch pitch, who seemed determined to own her in every way possible. Frightened, confused and feeling alone, Hermione had come to him, had confided her deepest, most personal and embarrassing secret to him—his conscience pointed out that she would never confide in him again after finding out about this. She had cried herself to sleep in his arms, and, unable to be happy with just that personal contact with her, he had stolen a kiss from her sleeping, unknowing lips. There was a part of him telling him how wrong he had been, and he imagined that part to be Mrs. Weasley, whispering in his ear from the Burrow, where she stood at the sink doing dishes. That part wanted to run and find Hermione, explain everything, and fall to his knees to beg her endlessly for forgiveness.

On the other hand, however, he had kissed Hermione! Even if it were something to never be repeated again—which, Mrs. Weasley would interrupt, would of course be the most proper course of action, to pretend it hadn't happened and move on—he, Harry Potter had _kissed_ Hermione Granger. Having never kissed a girl before, he wasn't sure if he had done it right—which, his selfish side would point out, was the advantage to practicing on a sleeping person—but Hermione's lips, unresponsive and unconscious though they were, had felt warm and perfect against his own. The breath slipping out of her was sweet and honeyed, tinted with tart orange, like her voice and eyes, and Harry knew that flavor would pervade every fiber of her body, though it was unbearably concentrated in her breath. He had smelled her at a more appropriate distance, of course, and understood her to smell clean and feminine, but until the moment his lips had hovered over hers, Harry had never realized that a scent could be so intoxicating. He had wanted to wake her with his kisses, drinking in her scent until he was sated, which he suspected would never happen. The inside of her mouth would be such a concentrated dose of her scent, Harry wasn't sure if he would die from the pleasure of kissing her so deeply, or merely become addicted to her honey breath, but he knew he wanted to find out. Given his reaction to kissing Hermione without her knowing, Harry could only imagine what it would feel like if she were kissing him back, though he knew that would never happen, he had to keep reminding himself of this. There was also a part of him exulting at his impulsive action, and he imagined a great, prideful lion, with a thick mane ruffling in the wind. The lion wanted him to run and find Hermione, explain everything, and sweep her into his arms and never let go.

As Mrs. Weasley and the lion argued in his head, Harry was able to distract himself for just a moment by thinking about Mrs. Weasley fighting a lion. He wasn't sure for whom he was more worried, but figured the lion would win in an outright fair fight.

The lion in his head purred victoriously at this realization, and Mrs. Weasley hit it with a wooden spoon.

But even his amusing imaginings weren't enough to keep Harry's mind away from his moral dilemma of the moment.

Harry sat with his gaze so transfixed on a small knot in the wood of the opposite wall that he was not aware of Trelawney's presence as she floated through the class, exclaiming delight at Harry's excellent first attempt, which was clearly resulting in a deep spiritual communication with other worlds. When Ron's hacking laughter pulled Harry from his own inner struggle, he was surprised to find Trelawney and most of the class staring at him in wonder and obviously impressed with something he had done.

"My dear," Trelawney said, gazing at him through the astoundingly thick lenses of her glasses, "you have gone to the other side and back. Tell us, what do you remember of your journey?"

"I—er," Harry stuttered, gaining snickers from the cynical members of the class. "I really can't remember anything. I was just focusing on that knot in the wood there, and I just…I don't know, I was just gone." He hoped fervently that Trelawney would be convinced by his pathetic attempt to fake his way out of detention, and was relieved when she became very understanding.

"To true clairvoyants like ourselves," she said sagely, "the visions will often reveal themselves in sleep. Tonight, sleep well and give yourself extra hours for dreams and sights. Your trance will return to you, mark my words."

Harry could only imagine the look on Hermione's face if she had been present to listen to Trelawney talking about Harry's clairvoyance. He knew she would make a scathing remark that the old bat had been trying to save face, because she had probably never had a real trance in her life. Harry happened to know this to be false, but didn't bring it up to the Hermione in his head, unsure of what her answer would be, and instead enjoying her attentions in his private world where they could not be disturbed. Luckily, Harry seemed to have been dazing off for most of the class, as Trelawney dismissed the class only a few minutes later, again reminding Harry and a few others who had seemed successful to, "sleep well, and dream."

As they exited a hidden corridor through a tapestry of Beadle the Bard, Ernie MacMillan spotted them and changed course in their direction.

"Does either of you two know what's going on with Granger?" he asked curiously.

"Er, no," Ron said in surprise, eyeing MacMillan. "Why? Is she sick or something?"

"No," Ernie replied quickly. "Er, at least I don't think so. She wasn't paying any attention in Arithmancy today, not that I can blame her. Dead boring, and difficult as all hell, too. But still, I've never seen her ignore a teacher before. Professor Vector was angry, I think, but too surprised to say anything about it. I was just wondering if you'd noticed anything odd lately."

"That's strange," Harry said, an uncomfortable feeling settling into his stomach. "She didn't say anything about it?"

"No, like I said, she was too surprised to see Hermione ignoring her," Ernie replied, not understanding Harry's question.

"No, I mean," Harry tried again, wondering how to word this without giving herself away, "did Hermione say anything? About why she was distracted, I mean?"

"Distracted," Ernie mused. "That's a good word for it. She didn't say anything at all, until Vector asked her a question, and she got it right of course, but it was like she was daydreaming or something. She had this happy look on her face, but then she'd get all angry looking, and then a little sad or something. At first I thought her stomach was upset, but then she kept looking really happy, like she was thinking about some bloke." Ernie looked suspiciously at Harry, who kept his face intentionally blank. "It was weird. I've never seen her look—well, I've never seen her look so much like a _girl_."

"Well," Harry said a bit too quickly, "thanks for letting us know. She was up late last night helping us with our makeup Potions essay, so that's probably it."

"Er, right," Ernie said, clearly hoping for more information on Hermione's strange behavior.

They continued on to meet Hermione so they could walk down to Care of Magical Creatures together, but it was lucky they had traveled this path through the castle before, because Harry was paying little attention to his feet. What Ernie had said about Hermione's strange behavior had unnerved him. What if she had been awake? He mulled over the implications of this as they continued down, but his mental Hermione seemed more interested in talking about Professor Trelawney's nonsense than having that awkward conversation right then. He was fine with that, and let her continue to rant in his mind's eye.

When Hermione came into view, they could see her hunched over her overstuffed bag, trying to find something, or, Harry thought with amusement, reorganizing to pass the time. He wondered if Hermione's need for organization would go so far, and decided that even if it did, it was an adorable habit he didn't want to mention for fear of embarrassing her out of it. She didn't seem to have noticed them even when they were feet from her, so Harry took a step forward and crouched down to her level, asking, "Looking for something?"

She jumped and mumbled, "No, just sorting things out."

Harry was pleased his guess had been right, and grinned broadly to himself. Hermione moved to stand up, struggling to balance her overloaded satchel, so he quickly offered her a hand up. At the precise moment he put out his hand for her, however, she turned her head away to adjust her bag, so that she did not see his attempt at chivalry and so that his hand was left hanging in the air while Hermione was oblivious and Ron guffawed silently. Harry elbowed him solidly in the ribs, and was still blushing furiously when Hermione finally looked up, saw his hand there, and flushed lightly herself.

"How was Divination?" she asked looking at Harry, though the question was meant for both boys. It had been only a matter of hours since he had seen Hermione, but Harry's heart still pounded in his chest as he met her gaze.

"Brilliant," Ron replied after a few moments of silence as the two others stared at one another. "Professor Trelawney didn't give us any homework at all."

"Professor Vector gave us loads," she replied glumly. "It'll take hours to get done by the next class."

Harry couldn't help but be a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to stay up late with Hermione again, and began plotting excuses to remain by her side while she worked in the common room that night. His planning was cut short, however, when Ron mentioned Harry's journey "to the other side and back," and Trelawney's prediction that he would have visions in his sleep. But Hermione just scoffed and seemed to sink back into her thoughts as they crossed the Entrance Hall, pausing outside the Great Hall as Ron took a deep sniff to try to decipher the contents of lunch.

The three friends walked together through the great double doorway into the bright autumn sunlight. There was a tang of winter in the air, the foreboding sign of a frigid night to come. The sudden shift in temperature seemed to bring Hermione back to the present, and she immediately set in on Professor Trelawney, her annoyance growing when Ron again mentioned Harry's supposed clairvoyant visions. For the most part, Harry ignored their conversation, and just appreciated the irritated flush creeping up her cheekbones, noting the cause so that in the future, he could bring their conversation around again to Trelawney and wastes of academic effort on the frivolity of Divination, just so he could see that adorable rush of blood. Frankly, Harry couldn't help agreeing with Hermione's opinion on Divination, but had to admit that Trelawney had been right about one thing. His frighteningly lifelike visions, usually portents of actual occurrences, did usually come to him in the form of a dream, and he suddenly felt a vague sense of dread, as one does in a nightmare, knowing the monster is just around the corner, and knowing he knows you're there.

~%%~

For the first time in her life, Hermione found herself completely unable to concentrate on the lesson being given in class. She knew from her reading the previous day that they were beginning a new section on the Chaldean Method of numerical divination. Chaldean was supposed to be easier to calculate, as only the numbers one through eight were used, instead of the traditional one through nine, and her studies told her it was based on the old Aramaic alphabet, thereby having far fewer combinations available. However, because there were fewer combinations possible, it meant that reading the numerical divinations became that much harder, as they would have to search for patterns between numbers and connections across several ranges of calculations, something for which they had previously not been responsible.

She had thought she had her emotions in check, but she had begun to lose control again during her walk from the Great Hall to the Arithmancy classroom. As she'd lowered herself into her seat in the front row, the free time she had without outside stimulation allowed her mind to wander unchecked, and it ended up betraying her in the end. She could not keep Harry out of her mind. Hermione trembled delicately as she took out her books, quills, and notes, already outlined in accordance with the textbook and Professor Vector's usual method of lecture, and waiting to be filled in with the important details.

Professor Vector entered the room in a long swirl of deep purple robes, almost too formal for a classroom setting. Though her favorite subject had always been Arithmancy, Hermione had never found Professor Septima Vector to be an especially gifted teacher. She much preferred Professor McGonagall's dignified black robes and rigidly disciplined coursework to Professor Vector's bright jewel-toned clothing and mindlessly difficult homework assignments, the point of which was usually to fail. Due to Professor Vector's belief that a perfect grade must be earned in blood and that the best way to learn was to start with the most difficult variation of a problem, Hermione had had to work harder for her marks in Arithmancy than she had ever had to in Transfiguration. However, Hermione felt she had learned much more in Transfiguration under McGonagall's strict yet patiently watchful eye than struggling on her own or with classmates to decipher difficult Arithmancy problems.

Today, Hermione found Vector's lesson, not only difficult to understand, but simply boring. She found herself staring toward the ceiling, wondering if Harry was as bored in Divination as she was in Arithmancy, and wishing for the first time that she had not stormed out on Professor Trelawney's class. It was bad enough they had to be separated at night, but why would she have deliberately taken herself out of Harry's presence for a class several times per week? Hermione had to shake herself at her last thought, earning a _what-is-wrong-with-you-today?_ look from Ernie Macmillan.

The responsible part of Hermione told her to pay attention, as Professor McGonagall paced nervously in her head, lecturing Hermione on the importance of her education, and reminding her that Arithmancy might be an important part of her future in the world. But Hermione, again for the first time that she could remember, was not interested in anything her mentor and favorite professor had to say. Gilderoy Lockhart was distracting her, though not in the way he once had. Rather, he was discussing with her what Harry would say if she admitted she had been awake for the kiss. She imagined the embarrassed flush that would rise to his cheeks. Harry didn't blush often, but when he did, Hermione enjoyed the color as it contrasted to his pale skin and dark hair. Lockhart beamed at her, pleased she was opening up to some emotions outside of her studies.

Hermione was so engrossed in a conversation with the Harry in her head, in which he found her in the library, and they discussed Transfiguration methods of animation, that she did not hear Professor Vector call on her until Ernie MacMillan reached across the aisle and poked her in the ribs. She jumped, earning a round of laughter from the students in the room and a furiously surprised look from Professor Vector, who had never seen Hermione fail to be at the peak of attention in her classroom. Hermione needed to hear the question twice before she could wrap her brain around the subject matter, but she eventually got the answer correct on the first try. Professor McGonagall gave her a tight-lipped stern glare, but Lockhart chuckled merrily, congratulating her quick thinking.

For the rest of the class, Hermione was beet red, utterly embarrassed, and still unable to concentrate on the room around her. As she slipped in and out of her daydreams, the others in the room kept glancing over at her, wondering what was wrong that was causing Hermione Granger, the great academic, to completely ignore her favorite subject. The rest of Arithmancy, which usually seemed not to last long enough for Hermione, suddenly couldn't pass quickly enough, even with Gilderoy Lockhart's Most Charming Smile encouraging her. Professor Vector, sensing that her best student wasn't even paying attention, seemed to give up and dismissed the class early with a much shorter assignment than usual. Hermione wasn't satisfied by this, however, because even though the class was over, she no longer had a distraction while she was waiting for Harry and Ron to meet her for their next class, Care of Magical Creatures.

She took a seat just outside of the classroom to wait for her friends and try to focus on the homework due for the next lesson. After several minutes of staring at the first problem, Hermione gave up and took out a fresh piece of parchment, savoring the smell for a moment, and then setting to work on her letter to Viktor. Harry's advance the night before—intentional or not—had given her the courage to set quill to parchment, checking the marble staircase every few seconds. She wanted to tell Harry herself about her decision to leave Viktor, so that she could perhaps see his reaction before telling him what had inspired her to do so.

In the polite, warm letter, she told him that, not only would she but unable to accept his proposal, but also that he was far too old for her and ready to settle down, while she still wanted to finish school and begin her own life before giving it to someone else. Because of this, she told him, it would be unfair to both of them for them to continue being a couple. She wrote that she would enjoy it if they continued to correspond through letters, and hoped that he would find happiness in someone who would be a better match than she.

When she was satisfied with the letter, Hermione folded it neatly and tucked it into her bag, then, when Harry and Ron had still not appeared, she began tediously and impatiently reorganizing her book bag, trying to spend as much time as possible completing the task.

As she finished repacking her bag, a foot came quickly into view, followed quickly by another foot, then a pair of knees, interrupted by, "Looking for something?" and followed in rapid succession by a torso, shoulders, neck, and the familiar teasing face of her best friend as Harry knelt down in front of her. The suddenness of his arrival startled Hermione enough to make her jump, though she quickly regained herself and stood up as gracefully as she could manage, thrown off-balance as she was by the weight of her books.

She turned when she heard a nearly silent choking noise coming from Ron and noticed that Harry was blushing scarlet. For a moment, she was so thrilled to see that lovely color in his skin that she didn't stop to realize why he seemed so embarrassed. Then she noticed his hand, still held out in a way that showed her he'd been offering to help her to her feet, but she hadn't noticed it, or she certainly would have accepted. Any excuse to hold his hand again like yesterday.

"How was Divination?" she asked, looking at Harry, though it was Ron who eventually answered.

"Brilliant. Professor Trelawney didn't give us any homework at all."

"Professor Vector gave us loads," she replied, not at all excited to work on the Chaldean Method. "It'll take hours to get done by the next class." This admittance made Hermione think of all the hours she'd be unable to spend with Harry that evening, while she was holed up in the library working on Professor Vector's stupid homework assignment.

"Too bad for you," Ron said lightly. "We were practicing sleeping in class today. Of course, when the old bat saw Harry sleeping with his eyes open, she said he'd 'journeyed to the other side and back,' or some other rubbish. She'll do anything to make it look as though we've learnt something from her, after last year."

Hermione was busy wondering what reason she could give Harry to go with her that evening, but was paying enough attention to the tone of the conversation to know she should make a disparaging remark about whatever Ron had just said. Not knowing the topic of conversation, however, she settled with a safe, noncommittal scoff before continuing to walk down the nighttime corridors of Hogwarts with Harry. She suddenly realized that she could only finish her homework in one sitting if she stayed in the library past hours, and Hermione was struck with just how to spend an evening with Harry, in a completely plausible way. It even had the possibility of recreating the scene from the night before. Perhaps if Harry knew of the letter now burning a hole in her bag, he wouldn't be secretive about things. Because, surely, he had waited until she was asleep because he didn't want to impugn her honor by kissing a promised woman, though, she thought wryly, it was more like a requested woman at the time. Now, she was a free woman.

With her dangerous hope for that night firmly in place, Hermione pulled herself back to the present, to the great pride of her mental Professor McGonagall, until she realized her best student was ignoring thinking about Harry in lieu of looking at him. As they exited onto the grounds, there was a slight chill in the air, and Hermione found herself wondering how cozy the library would be with a dusting of snow on the windows. Mental Lockhart agreed that it would be very romantic indeed, and urged her to carry on until then, to see what might unfold in the meantime.

Suddenly remembering what Ron had said, she quickly agreed, "Honestly, I don't know why Dumbledore keeps her on. It's not as though you've actually seen anything in the future with her."

"Arithmancy is just Divination with numbers!" Ron argued, glad that at least one of his friends was acting normally again.

"Exactly," Hermione retorted, back in her element. "Numbers and calculations are solid, they are based in theory, not like reading tea leaves, and—what were you doing today?" The oddity of his statement about sleeping in class had just hit her.

"Inducing trances," Ron replied. "And when Harry was daydreaming, she told him he'd remember the other worlds he'd visited when he goes to sleep tonight."

"Oh, honestly," she said again, though she could think of nothing more original to say, because at that moment, Hermione noticed Harry watching her intently from the corner of his eye. She felt a flush glowing up her face, and tucked into a heated, yet clichéd stream of insults toward Divination and Professor Trelawney, trying to hide her reaction to her best friend.

~%%~

**A/N**: Ok, so I lied, no physical fluff yet, though you know it's coming! Lots of cute lovey-dovey times in this chapter, though!

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

To prove that I do **read** (and try to **respond** to) all my signed reviewers, my favorite line from a review for **Chapter 4** was from **TheTimma**: "As much as I H8 waiting for anything at **this level of win**, I'd wait a little longer for the fluffiness to be added."

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Again, check out this fic I'm working on with **beccalyse**, **Eyes Turned Skyward**, it's sequel **For There You Have Been**, and their EPOV companion piece, **Learning to Live**. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!

Also, to those who've been wondering, this is occurring in their Sixth Year at Hogwarts. No, the Half-Blood Prince is not involved, and yes, I realize they didn't learn about Muffliato until the HBP showed them. It's just a very handy spell for purposes of my story, and I think it's tacky when people make up their own spells. Not to say that I won't ever do it, but I will do so very sparingly and with as much authenticity as I can manage.

~%%~

After a rather subdued lunch, during which Ron sat staring in irritated silence at his best friends, neither of whom were paying attention, only serving to upset him further, both Hermione and Harry were lost in their own thoughts, most of which were a repetition from earlier in the day. Ron had been forcing conversation for most of Care of Magical Creatures, and on the way back to the castle for lunch, he had given up in favor of an ill-tempered silence, which also went unnoticed by his distracted friends.

The trio went upstairs for Double Charms with Slytherin, where Harry, Hermione and Ron were all too distracted with their own thoughts of one another to notice Draco eying Hermione and Harry suspiciously. They were set into pairs to work on Shield Charms, and poor Hermione was assigned to work with Draco Malfoy, who'd had trouble with it in the previous lesson. Harry tried to offer to switch with her, but Ron quickly stepped on his toe each time he spoke up, so Professor Flitwick never heard him, but did admonish him twice for foul language. As former members of the D.A., Harry, Ron and Hermione were all far beyond proficient at the spell, and even the usually inept Neville had had Professor Flitwick squeaking it delight at his perfect first attempt. The success of the Gryffindors during the last lesson had put Malfoy in an exceptionally bad mood, and he was blasting hexes at Hermione with a vengeance as she coolly threw up one Shield Charm after another.

When even Harry had to admit that Hermione was perfectly safe with Malfoy, who hadn't yet landed a spell on her, he turned to Ron, crouching into a defensive position, but found him staring suspiciously down at him. Harry noticed a familiar buzzing sound in his ears, and stepped forward, inside the range of Ron's Muffliato Charm.

"What did you do?" he immediately set in upon Harry.

"I don't know what you're on about," Harry replied fiercely, experiencing the same tightening in his stomach as he had when talking to Ernie Macmillan.

Ron looked like he was about to explode. "If you two want to keep it a secret, that's fine for everyone else, but I'd have thought you'd have the decency to tell _me_, so when _my best friends_ spend all day ignoring me, I can at least know _why_."

"I—" Harry began, but Ron seemed to have a prepared bit to say.

"If you two are just happy as the giant squid to be together without me around, you could say it, rather than staring off into space and spending all day daydreaming about how long it'll be until silly Ron goes away and you can be alone with her."

"Look, if you'd just stop and pull your head out of your—"

"I'm not finished!" Ron declared hotly. "I'm supposed to be your best friend, and now you're ditching me for a _girl_! And not just any girl, but Hermione? How could you ditch one best mate because you've got a thing for the other? I thought you were better than that, not that sort of bloke."

"Are you finished now?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Almost," Ron replied, and with the look on his face, Harry knew exactly what was about to happen. "_Impedimenta!"_

During their argument, they had been throwing Disarming and Shield Charms at one another, keeping up the appearance of practice, though both had long since mastered the spells. Circling to keep their duel authentic, Ron now stood between Harry and Hermione and Malfoy's dreadful practice.

When they began, Hermione had been the one conjuring the Shield Charms, so that Malfoy could see how it was done. Now, Harry could see they had switched, and as Hermione repeatedly Disarmed him, Malfoy was barely producing any shielding effect. Even through the best charm he had managed so far, Hermione's spells stilled moved his wand in his hand.

Apparently fed up with being consistently shown by someone he disliked so openly, Malfoy looked fit to be tied. By the time it had reached this point, Harry had been paying more attention to Malfoy's growing rage than to Ron's ranting. His instincts were still sharp enough that he saw and felt the signs from both that an attack was near.

At the same moment Ron cast his jinx, he heard Malfoy shout, "_Indencio!_"

"_Protego!"_

The spell flew from his mouth automatically, and would have even if it hadn't been the lesson of the day. Rather than moving to protect himself, however, Harry sent his shield from the end of his wand like blue ice, rushing toward Hermione. It wrapped into a full circle around her, stretching to the ceiling, so that Malfoy's enchanted flames fluttered harmlessly around the edges. Though Hermione was fine, Ron's jinx and the anger behind it sent Harry flying into the desks that had been pushed up against the far wall. His head bounced off one of them, and he only heard Professor Flitwick squeaking, "Mr. Malfoy, how _dare_ you!" before he heard no more.

The room fell into chaos.

~%%~

When Harry could hear again, it was several loud, girlish screams, and one sneering, furious voice yelling over them all. He was aware of a warmth on his side, and wondered vaguely if he were bleeding, but he was too distracted by all the noise around him.

"I wasn't trying to hurt her!" Malfoy was yelling. "I knew she'd get her shield up in time."

"That's horseshit!" Ron was screaming in response. "It was _your_ turn to be shielding, not hers. Professor," he continued in a more dignified manner, "Hermione wasn't even the one who reacted. If Harry hadn't've tossed up that Shield Charm around her, she'd be, well, toast."

"Yes, I did see that," Professor Flitwick responded impatiently. "I was here as well."

"It was brilliant," Ron continued, seeming to ignore Flitwick, and only five years of friendship let Harry hear the note of suspicion in Ron's voice that no one else caught. "I was jinxing him—it was his turn to do the shielding, you see—and he saw Malfoy behind me trying to curse Hermione when she wasn't ready, and at the last possible second, he changed his shield's direction and sent it to wrap around Hermione. It was brilliant," he said again. "Total self-sacrifice."

Harry felt himself blush to the roots of his hair from where he lay on the ground.

"Oh good, you're awake," Hermione whispered into his ear. "Could you move your head the other way?"

Too confused to argue, Harry did as he was told, and felt her gently touching his head. As her fingers moved through his hair, his first thought was that this was actually quite a lovely sensation; his second, to wonder why she was doing this for him; and his third, to realize that he was in a lot of pain. Her fingers found the cut on the back of his head, pulling a loud gasp from him, which drew the attention of most of the room. The girlish screaming took up again, this time celebratory, as Lavender and Parvati realized he wasn't going to die.

He realized suddenly that the warmth in his side was Hermione, whom he figured had crawled behind him after he'd fallen unconscious. What he couldn't understand was why she would sit so close to him. He tried to shift away from her, giving her more room to be comfortable, but a ripping pain shrieked through his head whenever he tried to move himself.

"Hold still Harry," she whispered, placing a restraining hand on his chest.

Instinctively, not because he thought about it, or meant to, or because he was consciously trying to impress her—he told himself later it was because she'd surprised him—Harry flexed the muscles lying underneath her hands, then felt himself burning in shame again. What was happening to him? He never blushed! Why couldn't he control himself around this girl? She'd touched him before, hadn't she?

_Ah, but not when you wanted her to so badly._

But we've been friends for years!

_Too bad it took you so long to notice. Maybe now you'll embarrass yourself into getting something done with her. It's all that'd get anything done around you._

Shut up.

"I'm trying to fix the cut on your head," she continued, nothing in her voice telling him that she'd noticed anything about his sophomoric macho movement, nor his internal conversation.

"My head?" he asked, not fully understanding what she was doing, only that it hurt.

"You cut your head on the desk when Ron blasted you across the room," she muttered darkly. "Why didn't you shield yourself, Harry?"

And there it was. The question he really didn't want to answer, mostly because he didn't really know himself. He'd been poised to protect himself, known that Ron was attacking him. But he'd been more aware of Hermione's danger from Malfoy, and he hadn't stopped to think about what he was doing, just moved to protect her, even if it meant putting himself in danger. In retrospect, he thought that he might have been able to shield both himself and Hermione, but he hadn't even had a full second to react, and getting something between Hermione and Malfoy's curse was all he'd had time to process.

"You weren't ready for his attack," he muttered without much conviction. "It wasn't a fair attack, was it? He could have really hurt you."

Although she knew he couldn't see it, Hermione smiled down at him, turning faintly pink. It was amazing how much she blushed around him these days. Come to think of it, only today she'd been thinking how infrequently Harry blushed, and here he'd done it twice in as many minutes.

Although his spell had been both heroic and self-sacrificing, Hermione had to tell herself again and again that it was simply in Harry's nature to behave this way. It wasn't, however, his way to flex muscles randomly, and especially not to show off, but Hermione's logical side again kicked in, and she was annoyed to hear Professor McGonagall explaining that Harry had suffered a head injury and was probably experiencing muscle spasms.

She didn't know what else to say to him as she worked on his injury, which looked like it had cracked his skull, so she remained silent.

Harry was in a great deal of pain, though, for much the same unnamable reasons he had shown off his muscles, he remained steadfastly silent as well. If Hermione could stand to be helping him with an obviously bad injury, he could be man enough to not let her know he was in pain, because he knew she'd feel as though she wasn't doing enough. She must have known her work would cause him pain, though, because at moments when the pain was especially all-consuming, she would pause her work to squeeze one of his hands in her own smaller one. Those moments let Harry focus on nothing more than the softness of her hand in his, and more than once, Hermione heard him sigh in relief as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

Through his hand, Hermione could feel his pulse getting weaker and weaker, at moments barely fluttering. She suddenly became aware of how much blood was soaking through her robes, and paled at the thought of how precious little was left inside her best friend. "Professor Flitwick?" she called politely, trying to keep her shaking voice under control. Then, when he couldn't hear her over Ron's yells, she tried to run to him, but Harry's dead weight kept her firmly in place.

Hysteria threatened to take over as she screamed, "_Professor! Ron! Help!"_

Everyone suddenly fell silent, then saw that Hermione's robes were slick with fresh blood, which was dripping from the wound on Harry's head. The momentary relief they had felt at his consciousness evaporated immediately with one glance at his sickly pallor.

Ron rushed over, calling, "_Wingardium leviosa!"_ as he approached them. Harry's limp form lifted away from Hermione as they rushed toward the hospital wing, the entire class in tow. His hand twitched in hers as he was pulled away from her, and he groaned painfully.

Hermione followed beside him, watching his face and trying not to explode into tears in the corridors. His eyes opened, a frighteningly pale version of their usual vivid green. He tried to speak, and Hermione stopped him, explaining, "We're taking you to the hospital wing, Harry. I'm sorry, Harry. I was trying to fix your skull, but I couldn't do that and stop the blood loss. I didn't realize how bad it was, I'm so sorry I'm not a good enough healer, I shouldn't have tried," she chastised herself for taking such a risk, especially on someone as important to her as Harry. "But Madam Pomfrey will set you right." But what if she couldn't? Mustn't think of that now, it won't do any good. Just keep him conscious. "It'll be alright Harry. Oh, I'm so sorry, I should've made Professor Flitwick look at you straight away instead of arguing with Ron. I'm sorry, Harry."

He responded by wildly throwing his arm out to her, stretching to run his hand reassuringly across her face. He said something she couldn't quite catch, but she knew it was meant to be an assurance that he would be alright. She caught his hand in hers, briefly leaning her face into his palm before placing it carefully on his stomach.

"No," he mumbled. "Hold on…feel real…help…"

Hermione wasn't sure what he'd said, but his hand twitched again toward her, and rather than let him expend the energy to struggle, she took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly, and asking him to squeeze back if he could hear her. She only let go when they had to duck through a short, narrow passageway, but even that lack of contact unsettled her.

They were only two floors down from the infirmary when Hermione took his hand, asked him to squeeze hers in response, and got nothing.

She asked him again, but there was still no response. His pulse was there, but weaker than ever, and if he was not responding, it meant the situation was rapidly getting out of hand. She panicked, yelling at them to move faster, telling Ron to run, screaming at the crowd to get away so he could move. She took off at the fastest pace she could manage while still holding his hand.

Still feeling nothing but dead weight in her hand, Hermione looked down to see Harry's eyes opened to just a slit. She hoped for a moment that he was coming back around, but she could see the dusty green of his worn-out eyes for only a few moments before they rolled back into his head. She doubled her speed, urging Ron to do the same as they raced their friend to Madam Pomfrey, hoping there was something, anything that could be done.

~%%~

Harry had a sudden sensation of weightlessness, and the voices around him took on a concerned tone, though he didn't even try to make out the words they were saying. The only thing of which he was acutely aware was Hermione's hand being pulled away from him, and he gripped her hand as tightly as he could manage, but it still did not seem to be tightly enough, for she was slipping away from him. He demanded hotly that she be brought back to him, not concerned about embarrassing himself anymore, because her hand was suddenly the only sensation of which he could be positive. The rest of his body didn't quite feel as though it was there, and he became slightly more interested in the content of the worried voices.

Swimming up through his own body, Harry forced open his eyes to find Hermione's, brimming with tears. He frowned, not only because she was crying, but because she was suddenly at eye level, no longer above him, and that did not make sense. He tried to ask what was going on, but could not seem to work his mouth.

Hermione understood though, and said tearfully, "We're taking you to the hospital wing, Harry. I'm sorry, Harry. I was trying to fix your skull, but I couldn't do that and stop the blood loss. I didn't realize how bad it was, I'm so sorry I'm not a good enough healer, I shouldn't have tried. But Madam Pomfrey will set you right," her voice cracked and doubt seeped into her voice. "It'll be alright Harry. Oh, I'm so sorry, I should've made Professor Flitwick look at you straight away instead of arguing with Ron. I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered again.

He wanted to reassure her, to reach out and cradle her face and let her know he didn't blame her for anything, couldn't blame her. But all he could manage to do was lift his hand to her face and awkwardly brushed the side of her face, muttering, "S'arigh', 'Mione."

Her face leaned into his hand, and he felt the most incredible warmth spreading up his arm. This contact with her was the only thing making him feel real at the moment, and when she placed his hand upon his own stomach and moved to take hers away, he reached out for her, gasping desperately. Harry gathered his strength for one great sentence and said, "No, hold on to my hand. My body doesn't quite feel real, and it helps."

Whether or not she'd understood him, Hermione grasped his hand, continually having him squeeze and release, so she could know he was still conscious. The waiting for her voice and the very realness of her hand in his kept Harry just breaking the surface, so when her hand disappeared, he slipped slowly under. At first, he concentrated on the noise surrounding him, hoping the stability of Hermione would return, but when it didn't, there just didn't seem to be any point in trying to tread water. He let himself sink under, as though into a feather bed, and it felt just like going to sleep.

Desperately, from very far away, Hermione's hand came back to him, gripping tightly, yelling at him to go faster, and he didn't understand, because the Snitch was so close he could see it glinting in her eyes. It was so close, and there was no need to go faster, because if he could just sleep, it would be alright.

Students passing by the crowd on their way to the bathroom screamed, doors opened to see the cause of the commotion, and before they had reached the hospital wing, the entire school knew that Harry Potter's life hung by a thread.

~%%~

**A/N**: The wait was getting ridiculously long, and you've been waiting patiently for a while now, and I'm in class, so what better to do than work on my latest chapter, right?

I'm not sure if the kiss will be in the next chapter or not, because the kiss itself is already written (and **it is hot**), but the lead-up is getting really, really long. If it is a separate chapter, I'll post number seven tonight and wait a couple days to post the kiss.

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The **winner of my favorite review** line from **Chapter 5** again came from **TheTimma**, who said: "please keep the win level at . I may have to give you my EPIC WIN SEAL OF APPROVAL!*cue angelic choir*"

In case you haven't noticed yet, the "Review of the Week" is people who liked it and told me why, though a well placed flamer could very well earn you a mention. It's all in the way you construct the review. Just a friendly note for some of my more competitive readers!

And one more thought for those teetering on the edge of that little green button down there. Any and all signed reviews will get a **sneak-peek** at the next chapter when I respond to your **signed review.**

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Again, check out this fic I'm working on with **beccalyse**, **Eyes Turned Skyward**. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!

I've created a forum for this fic, called "One Kiss From You," same as the title. The first topic I've posted has some clarifying points, where I'll address questions that I receive in reviews/emails that I feel several people might have misunderstood. Users are able and more than welcome to create new topics of discussion, and I'll try to be as present as possible to answer questions and such.

Also, it's been pointed out that my last a/n was bitchy and demanding. Sorry, and allow me to explain. When I read a story, I generally leave a fairly descriptive review, because the entire point of this site is for amateur writers to post in an area they are comfortable and receive feedback. So to me, it is lazy and/or an insult when so many people read, but do not review. I understand, however, that most people probably don't see it that way, so no more ransoms or anything mean like that.

Also, sorry Edmond, but you kinda pissed me off, caught me at the wrong moment. My bad.

~%%~

Harry woke up in the hospital wing with a truly horrendous headache. He swore softly, unaware of anything around him.

"Good morning, Sunshine," a chipper female voice said brightly.

He opened his eyes to try and discern the owner of the voice, but his vision was too clouded. "I can't see," he said, and someone handed him his glasses.

"Hermione," Ron whispered. "Hermione, he's awake now."

He looked to his left and found Ron sitting next to his bed with a dozing Hermione tucked under one arm. The lion roared up inside him, threatening to tear Ron into bite-sized pieces. He saw Lavender and Parvati pass a sly look between them, but didn't have time to think about it much, because Hermione had been roused and leapt upon him.

Pleased though he was to see her, she knocked the breath out of him and shot another pain through his head.

She leapt back instantly in horror, apologizing profusely for hurting him again. Hermione began to apologize once more for not knowing the healing charms she needed to help him, for putting him in such a horrible position, but Harry just stared at her.

"What happened?"

Everyone gathered around Harry's bed—which, he suddenly realized, was most of the fifth year Gryffindors, Ginny, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, and Hagrid—turned to Ron, seeming to give him a classically accusatory glare.

"I am so sorry, mate," he muttered. "I just—I _knew_ you knew I was going to cast a jinx, and I was so sure you'd be ready for it, and I just didn't expect you to get so distracted. I'm sorry, I was just mad as a hellcat and I figured I could take it out on your Shield Charm."

"What exactly were you two talking about that made you so mad, again, Ronald?" Hermione asked icily. "You haven't quite answered that question yet."

Trying to be as close to honest as possible, Ron replied, "Girls," at the same time as Harry said, "Quidditch," trying to keep the conversation as far from the truth as possible.

Caught in their lie, Harry quickly added, "Girls on the Quidditch team. Ron doesn't think we should have them, you see."

Luckily for Ron, the only other player present was his younger sister, who knew perfectly well that her brother had half-formed opinions on a wide range of topics, and elected to keep her mouth shut about this newest idiocy in light of the slightly more concerning topic of Harry's latest near-death experience.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, unsurprised by Ron's apparent insensitivity, "he flung you across the room and you cracked your head really badly on the desks in the back of the room. I was trying to help you while Ron tried to murder Malfoy in Charms class, but I couldn't work the spells fast enough. I kept getting the wound half closed but then the break would open back up, then I'd work on your skull and it would start bleeding again. It was a truly pathetic attempt at healing you by magic, and I'm so sorry that I'd never done it before. It just didn't seem like that bad of an injury.

"But then you were losing a lot of blood and you fell unconscious, and Ron levitated you up here, and Madam Pomfrey fixed you all up in about a minute, so the moral is that you should never let me heal you again." She finished, quite out of breath, and Harry could see a fine tremble at the corners of her mouth, a sure sign that she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

After her explanation, Harry stared at her wordlessly. "I don't remember," he finally muttered.

"You don't remember any of it?" she asked incredulously.

"I remember—" Harry began, but he stopped himself, looking at Hermione curiously. "You let go?" He made it a question, because he wasn't sure he was interpreting the memory correctly.

"I had to Harry," she muttered apologetically, aware of every eye on her. "We were going through a narrow passage, but it was no more than three seconds, I promise."

"It felt like forever," Harry muttered in confusion. He wasn't aware of the looks being passed around him, but if he had been, he'd have hoped fervently that they chalked it up to his damaged skull. "The whole thing felt like it took forever."

"I got back to you as soon as I could," she assured him, "but by then you weren't responding to aural or tactile stimulation. That's when things started looking bleak."

"Aural or tact—what?"

"You didn't respond if anyone touched you or said anything to you. By the way, mate," Ron added casually, "about half the school thinks you're dead, so you'll want to be to breakfast early tomorrow so as not to scare anyone walking in."

The group of spectators laughed heartily at that, and most drifted off to their evening plans shortly thereafter to tell their classmates that Harry Potter had survived yet again. Ginny stayed with the trio, but she was the only one who did so, McGonagall having ushering the others out with the excuse that she wanted to question them about what had happened.

"You missed dinner, as well," Ginny mentioned. "But Dobby said he'd bring you something once you're feeling up to it."

"Right now, I just want to be in my own bed," Harry sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. "And maybe something hard to bang against my face," he added with a grimace as his headache made itself known once again.

"See, that's the beauty of magic, mate," Ron offered brightly, producing a spoonful of a thick lavender potion from the bedside table and offering it to Harry.

"Oh. Right." Harry welcomed the instant relief from his headache that he felt upon swallowing the nearly tasteless potion, and was also feeling more energized. "I want to go back to the common room now. I'm all awake now, but when I get tired again, I want to sleep in my own bed."

"I'll go see if Madam Pomfrey will let you leave," Ron offered, eager to help fix the mess he had caused.

While they waited for Ron, Harry stared intently at Hermione, willing his foggy brain to remember what had been happening. All he could think of was the warm comfort of her hand in his, and how he'd lost hope when that support had been removed. He noticed her flushing slightly under his intense gaze, and turned to Ginny to give her a moment to compose herself.

"So, how bad was it?" he asked bracingly.

Despite the braveness he injected into his voice, Hermione looked like she was about to burst into tears as she thought about what had happened in the classroom.

"Not much worse than usual," Ginny offered brightly, seeing that Hermione wasn't going to be able to answer his question. "You bled a lot, nearly died, but we got you out of the thick in the nick of time."

"That sounds about right, I guess," Harry replied. He reached across the bed coverings to find Hermione's hand and grip it awkwardly. "It's not your fault," he told her seriously. "I'm fine, from what it sounds like, because you got me up here. You can't blame yourself that Ron's a hot-tempered git."

She giggled a bit, still nearly on the verge of hysterics, and then threw herself at him once more, though much more gently than the first time. Though she still stood on the floor, Hermione's torso was stretched across Harry's as she snuggled herself gently into him. Harry rubbed her shoulder gently. He understood that she needed to make sure he was alright, and just like the night before, he let her cry herself out on his shirtfront.

Ron came back to inform the others that Madam Pomfrey would allow Harry to leave once she had checked him herself, but found Hermione laying prostrate across Harry's chest, sobbing. Harry looked somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, but certainly wasn't doing anything to put a stop to it. Ginny was poised half out of her chair, as though trying to decide if she should leave or not, and he made an uncharacteristically sensitive decision, placing one finger over his lips and indicating with his other hand that she should follow him out of the hospital wing.

Hermione wasn't aware of the Weasleys leaving, though Harry gave Ron a brief smile of thanks as he passed through the door. He mouthed, "We'll talk later," and grinned again at Ron's eye roll.

When Hermione had once again composed herself and felt convinced that Harry was not only in perfect condition, but would most likely remain so, she sat up and realized that they were the only ones in the wing. She could hear Madam Pomfrey rummaging around in the cupboard at the other end, but she wasn't in sight.

"Harry," she began quietly, her fingers running lightly over the back of his hand. "Would you do me a favor? I mean, if you're feeling up to it tonight?"

"Of course, Hermione," he replied, eager to help her in whatever way he could. "I should be able to do just about anything, unless you want me to fight another dragon," he teased, and felt bad as he saw her flinch at the memory.

"It's nothing that dangerous," she assured him quickly. "It's just that, I have quite a lot of Arithmancy homework to do tonight, and I'll need some books in the library, and I'm worried I might be out after hours." She stopped there, unsure if she really wanted to ask him or not, even more unsure of what he'd say. He was injured, and shouldn't be wandering the castle late at night anyway, but she knew him to be resilient and hardy, and didn't expect him to make anything less than a full recovery in the next hour or so. Lockhart bounded happily around her mind, knowing that her decision had already been made for her, because there was only one answer to Harry's next question.

"Would you like to borrow my cloak?" he offered quietly when no request came forth.

"Oh, no!" Hermione replied in surprise. "No, heavens, I wouldn't ask for that, Harry! It was your father's, and it's extremely important to you. No," she continued, "I was wondering if you'd come with me to the library. With the cloak, I mean, so we don't get caught, but so I don't have to be alone."

Harry watched a very faint tinge of pink appear on her face, and she dropped her gaze down to her lap. She began to pull her hand away, but he caught it, smiling gently. "You don't have to be embarrassed to ask me for that," he said softly. "Of course I'll go with you. I wouldn't want you wandering around the castle at night, anyway. I couldn't have anything happening to you, now could I?" It was his turn to look away from her as the last words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden.

Madam Pomfrey saved them from the uncomfortable silence that fell when she bustled over to Harry, checking him over thoroughly before telling him he could leave only if he promised to rest for the evening and to come back for more potion if his head was hurting again. She left his school robes folded at the end of his bed, walking away with a disgusted look on her face. Harry wondered briefly how long it would take before she banished him from the hospital wing altogether for abusing the facilities.

Hermione graciously stepped away from his cot, pulling the curtains around him so he could dress in silence. As they contemplated the pending nighttime trip to the library, both were musing about what could possibly happen late at night in the school library. They wouldn't be likely to be interrupted by other students, and it was quite a cozy, even romantic place in the old castle.

When Harry emerged from the curtained area, he saw two very distinct things. The first was that it had, in fact, begun to snow, and large puffy flakes floated lazily past the darkened window.

The second, and far more bothering thing he noticed, was that Hermione was still covered in dried blood. His blood, he realized suddenly, and a great swell of affection filled his chest and threatened to burst embarrassingly from his mouth as he watched her calmly cleaning her robes and skin. She was so efficient at cleaning charms, and as Harry's tendency to bleed had increased over the years, only seeming to get worse with time, he made a mental note to ask her to show him sometime.

~%%~

They managed to get away from the common room that night with few outbursts from Ron. Although he did want to talk to Harry, once he found out that they were only taking a trip to the library—something Ron couldn't see as being exceptionally romantic—he was content to stay in the common room, where he would be able to spend a few hours free of Hermione's nagging to do his homework. Harry tucked the Invisibility Cloak into his book bag, as they still had several hours before they were required to be back in the common room. If Hermione was able to find what she needed before curfew, they wouldn't need to sneak their way back at all. Harry fervently hoped that it would take her that long.

Once they entered the library, Hermione, who had been tense ever since Harry had awoken in the hospital wing, visibly relaxed in a homecoming way. She paused inside the doors, inhaling deeply of the smell of old books and ink, of the deep, ancient magic she always found here. Harry, who wasn't prepared for her to stop, walked right into her, overcome as he usually was by a deep sense of unwelcome, as though the moldering books and faded ink knew how frequently he spoke ill of the magic it had to offer.

Her moment of relaxation completely ruined, Hermione stumbled forward, and Harry quickly caught her around the waist to keep her from landing on her face. He had to make a stupid hopping motion forward to keep his own balance, but in a precarious and completely ungraceful way, neither of them hit the floor.

"Sorry," he said, humiliated, as he helped her regain balance.

"It's alright," she replied casually. "Oh! Harry, the Cloak!"

Harry's bag has fallen open, and a portion of the Cloak hung from it. Unless someone knew what they were looking at, the silvery, liquid-looking fabric wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but Harry quickly stuffed the rest of it back under his textbooks and followed Hermione.

She led him to her favorite corner of the library, which was actually not in a corner, but rather somewhere in the center of the rows and rows of books, where two rows came to a corner, and for some odd reason, there was a third, much shorter case that created a small nook no bigger than Harry's bedroom on Privet Drive. The shelves forming the corner had no books on them, but rather it was filled with a large, dusty blue sofa and an overstuffed armchair of a dusty sort of nondescript color. There was also one large oak table, to which Hermione pulled up the armchair and set down her bag. Harry followed suit, pulling out his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and settling down on the couch.

Though he tried to concentrate, Hermione was walking back and forth from their little corner, bringing stacks of books back with each trip. Every time she walked past, Harry completely lost track of what he was supposed to be doing, utterly enraptured with the scented air that drifted to him with each pass. After depositing each group of musty books, she would wander up the aisles again, chewing her hair thoughtfully as she searched for just the right book. He was so distracted by everything she did that he quickly gave up on doing anything productive until she was prepared to sit down and work without moving around.

This plan didn't work as well as he had hoped, for even seated, every small motion she made, every squeak of her chair, made him want to look up at her and see what she was doing. She continued to chew on her hair, occasionally shoving it back from her face in irritation, but mostly twirling little strands of it around her fingers in thoughtful silence. Harry realized suddenly that he'd never really watched her do anything before, and began to take a deep interest in her facial expressions, noting frustration more than anything, but also seeing pronounced disgust, which surprised him the first time he saw it, until she dipped her quill in ink and angrily scratched out a large portion of the work she'd been doing.

Harry had taken most of his books with him, and had finally settled on Transfiguration, trying desperately to convince a quill to do ballet across the floor while Hermione sat across from him muttering calculations to herself and completing, then crossing out values on her parchment. The more upset she got over it, the more she played with her hair, and the bushier it got. Harry grinned at her, wondering if she would agree if he told her how very lovely she looked at that particular moment, with her nose scrunched in annoyance and exhaustion.

Although Harry was almost constantly distracted, he finished all of his homework for the rest of the week before Hermione had finished her Arithmancy, including a second and third revision of the Potions essay she had helped them write the night before. He suddenly found himself doubting that she was so smart, if she had opted to take a class that was even difficult for _her_. He wondered momentarily how anyone else was managing to pass. He quietly packed his bag, trying not to disturb her, then left it sitting on the small table near his head.

As he stretched out on the delightfully comfortable sofa, Harry felt quite relieved and understood then why Hermione insisted they finish their homework early. It was quite a relaxing sensation, to know that he had the rest of the week to do extra studying, perhaps read ahead in Potions for their next assignment, something he never had a chance to do, though Hermione also insisted that it was a good study habit to be prepared. Running through a mental checklist of everything he had to do before the weekend, Harry felt light as a feather, wondering what he would do with all of his free time. He was so used to rushing to finish things at the last minute that he wasn't quite sure how else to fill his time.

Perhaps if Hermione finished Arithmancy and didn't have anything else to do, they could spend the following afternoon walking out on the grounds through the fresh snow. He dozed off in the library to the soft scratching of Hermione's quill, thinking of all the wonderful things they might one day do.

~%%~

Finally finished with the unbearable load of Arithmancy homework, Hermione looked up to find Harry asleep, spread out on the dusty couch. She jumped when she realized that his head was missing, then realized her mistake as she saw that the Invisibility Cloak had escaped his bag yet again, and was spilling over his head. The empty plate of sandwiches Dobby had brought up for him was balanced on the end of the sofa where Harry'd left it. She laughed a little to herself as she took in his headless appearance, now much funnier that it was not a surprise.

Licking her lips nervously and moving as slowly as possible, trying to calculate for each noise she might make, Hermione stood up and crept to the end of Harry's couch. She knelt down near his head, still barely daring to breathe as she inched her way toward his sleeping figure. She delicately pulled the strange material away from his face, looking down upon his sleeping form, forcing upon Hermione the realization of the switch from the previous night.

His eyes were lightly closed in sleep, his face smooth and unworried in his dreams, and his lips were parted just enough that Hermione could seem the white gleam of his teeth. With the way he was sleeping, Hermione was sure his hair would be a wild mess when he woke. She made herself focus on the task, and took one silent breath before leaning over Harry's sleeping face, remembering to lick her lips slightly, then put her hand beside his shoulder on the couch to steady her shaking body.

Hermione leaned across his torso, lowering her head as slowly as she could manage to his parted lips. He sighed again in his sleep, sending a spicy, dark scent into her lungs. She gasped silently, and finally lowered her face to his, eager for more of his flavor, to decipher the contents of his scent. Her lips were barely touching his, not even a kiss, when Harry moved his lips.

"You were _awake_."

Hermione gave a little scream and fell backwards, toppling out of her crouching position and landing on her backside on the library floor, looking up at Harry, now propped up on one elbow and looking down at her in amusement.

"You were awake," he said again. He sounded absolutely astonished. It wasn't a question, but Hermione felt the need to answer.

"Yes."

"And…you're not mad at me?" He seemed hesitantly hopeful, wanting her to not be mad, but he sounded like he didn't expect his luck to go so far.

"I—what?" Hermione had been prepared to tell him to forget everything, that she knew it meant nothing, but this, _this_ was not what she'd been ready for. Of course, she thought, someone as noble as Harry would be most concerned about keeping their friendship intact before bothering with the awkward conversation they were about to have.

"I'd understand if you were, of course," Harry said unhappily. "I mean, I—I betrayed you and totally violated you, and if I could take it back—well, I'm not sure I would, well, if you asked me to, of course I'd undo it if I could, but I've been wanting—"

But Hermione cut off Harry's self-deprecating rant by raising one hand in the air in a _wait a moment while I think about think about this_ gesture. "You're worried," she began at last. "That I'm mad at you for kissing me?"

"While you were asleep," he added sheepishly.

"While I was _pretending_ to be asleep," she shot back significantly.

"It doesn't matter if you were asleep or pretending anything!" Harry replied hotly. "The point is, I thought you were asleep, and I kissed you, expecting you would never know!" The look on Hermione's face instantly told Harry he had said exactly the wrong thing, he just didn't know why. Why couldn't the silly girl understand why he felt so bad? She didn't seem to be upset, but that wasn't at all the point. He had spent the past twenty-four hours filled without doubt and self-loathing because, whether or not she was angry after the fact, he had acted without her permission, while she was unconscious to him, and therefore against her wishes.

But Hermione didn't seem to be understanding his point of view on the situation, because when she spoke, he could hear the familiar trembling in her voice that meant she was on the verge of tears. The fact that those tears were caused by him sent Harry into another downward spiral of emotions as he mentally cursed at himself in ways that he would never speak out loud in the presence of a lady.

"So, you didn't mean anything by it?" Hermione whispered, not quite looking him in the eye, but rather focusing her gaze somewhere above his shoulder. "Do you wish you hadn't?"

"I wish I hadn't—" he began, but stopped when Hermione whimpered, trying to hide the building onslaught of sobs now filling her chest. He knelt down beside her, placing a hand in the small of her back to soothe her. Thinking this may be the last moments they had before he crushed her hope and any desire to be alone with him, Hermione put her own arm around his waist and settled into his shoulder, noting that it was more muscular than his smallish frame revealed through the black school robes. "Are you alright?" he inquired softly, tucking her head under his chin and linking his free hand with the one she had left near his hip.

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied, trying and failing for a lighthearted tone. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Rather than answering her ridiculous question or addressing her false contentment, he just said, "You didn't let me finish, you silly girl. I was going to say, I wish I hadn't done it like that, not that I wished I hadn't."

Needing desperately to understand exactly what he meant by that, Hermione took a slow, shaky breath and said, "How do you wish you'd have done it?"

"Well," Harry began carefully, choosing each word with great care, "I suppose I'd have liked to have been alone together—"

"We were," Hermione interrupted.

"—in a nice, quiet corner of the castle at night, like the common room—"

"We were in the common room!"

"—or maybe under a tree out on the grounds, or some other nice, secluded area—"

"Like the library," she added, her courage blossoming.

"—mm, or the library," he agreed. "I wouldn't have asked you—well not in so many words, but I'd make my intentions clear—and give you ample opportunity to reject my advances." He brushed his lips across her forehead, squeezing her hand lightly as he did so. Harry took her other hand in his, kissing it lightly and raising it up so their fingers entwined between them in midair. "I'd probably tell you nice things, to hint at my feelings, like telling you how very sweet you are, with your chocolate eyes and honey-colored hair." Hermione blushed, and he added, "And when you blush so pink, like a—" He trailed off, looking for the right word. "A strawberry field," he finished, then quickly added, "Sorry, I couldn't think of any sweet red things. I only had the hair and eyes prepared."

Hermione giggled softly, trying to hide it, but they both quickly fell into laughter at Harry's pathetic attempt at flattery.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching his breath. "I've got no practice with things like this."

"Then we'll have to practice together," she offered, almost silently. If Harry had been sitting only a few inches farther away, he wouldn't have been able to hear her.

"I suppose so," Harry said, and the silence hung over them like a wool blanket. He swallowed, and the sound was nearly deafening to them both, while Hermione's breath came in ragged pants.

"What would you do next?" Hermione asked breathily. "You know, if you could have done it differently."

"Right." Harry was lost in her eyes for a moment, noticing how they were turning slightly golden in color, like warm caramel being swirled into melted chocolate. As he stared intensely down at her, Hermione could see his eyes growing darker, like dusk setting over a freshly cut lawn. She had never known his eyes to be that color, nor had she ever seen the nearly possessive gleam in them. She had seen it in Viktor's own dark muddy eyes many times, but unlike then, she found she was pleased by it.

"I suppose," Harry said, and Hermione had to pause to remember what they had been talking about, "that once I had you alone, and I was sure you knew what I wanted from you, well if you hadn't run screaming by then, I'd have to make sure you couldn't." He held her tighter to his side, and hooked a finger under her chin, the way he'd seen in the Dursleys' old movies. With a deep steadying breath, Harry tilted her chin up so that her mouth was more accessible to his own. He licked his lips slightly and whispered, "You only have to say 'no'."

"I won't," she replied as quietly as she could manage, afraid to break the spell with words.

Almost too slowly, Harry lowered his head to Hermione, gently moving his lips against hers, barely touching. It was a dry touch, nothing more than the barest of brushes, completely chaste until Harry brought his hand from her chin to the side of her face, pulling her closer. As their lips fully connected, Hermione gave a shuddering sigh into his mouth, filling it with her honey-orange flavor. In response to this ultra-concentrated dose of her flavor, Harry groaned lightly, coming to his knees beside her and lifting her into his arms and himself to a standing position before she quite had time to react.

She pulled away, looking surprised. "You picked me up!" she exclaimed, looking down over his arm as though to clarify it to herself, and Harry noted that it was one of the few stupid things he'd ever heard her say.

"Yes." He grinned as he realized that _he_ had caused that effect in her. Perhaps he wasn't so bad at this after all.

"I—I didn't know you could do that!"

"Thanks, Hermione," he said sarcastically, his pride and ego deflating as quickly as they had come into being the moment before.

"No, that's—I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," she fumbled, embarrassed beyond measure that she couldn't seem to form a whole sentence. "I meant—well, I mean, you don't _lift_ a whole lot, at least not that I see and I guess I thought—"

"Quidditch," he answered, letting her stop rambling. When she looked at him doubtfully, he quirked an eyebrow and added, "You know, riding a broomstick isn't easy. You've got to be in shape."

"Really?" she said, part doubtfully and part in surprise.

"Really," he replied. "But _really_ I don't think we were talking about broomsticks."

Hermione blushed madly as she remember what they _had_ been talking about. Or rather, what they hadn't been saying. "Right."

"Unless, of course," he added quickly, moving to set her on her feet, "you don't want to finish that conversation?"

"No, I do!" she assured him, wrapping her arms around his neck so that he couldn't put her down without falling over. "Perhaps though," she added meekly, "not suspended in the air?"

"Don't you trust me?" Harry asked, pretending to be hurt.

"I…do," she answered slowly. "But that doesn't mean I want to risk it."

He chuckled at her nervousness, and she caught another slight whiff of that spicy scent. He carried her the few paces to the musty old couch, gingerly stepping around her piles of books. Harry lowered himself into the chair, once again letting Hermione curl into his lap like he had the night before. The biggest difference, of course, was that her lips parted of her own accord, and he could see her golden chocolate eyes staring back at him as he once again bent down to kiss her.

Their lips met more firmly this time, into a much more substantial kiss. Finally realizing that this might just work out for them, Harry relaxed and sigh contentedly into her mouth as she moaned softly under his kiss. Hermione took that chance to inhale as much of his flavor as she could, identifying cloves, ginger, and something sweeter…peppermint? The spiciness of him took her breath away, left her clinging to his shoulders and wondering how she'd never noticed how well-toned he was. She mentally added his physical humility and fascinating flavor to the long list of wonderful things about him.

Harry was just as boggled by Hermione as she found herself by him. The elation he felt at holding her in his arms was almost as strong as the amazement that she actually wanted to be there with him.

This knowledge gave him the courage to pull her even closer to him as he wrapped one arm around her back to hold her up, and moved the other hand to the back of her neck, keeping her firmly locked into their kiss, which was quickly becoming more passionate by the moment. Hermione sighed again into the kiss, parting her lips just enough to give Harry the nerve to flick a taste from her lower lip.

"Mind you," he whispered in a husky, breathless voice as he pulled away at last, "I wasn't expecting this to happen for another couple of years."

"Well," she responded, just as breathless as he, "I guess I have to be glad that things didn't go according to plan for you."

He grinned, nudged her nose softly with his own, and kissed her again.

~%%~

**A/N**: I've decided that it would be better for you, dear reader, to simply set up the alerts for this story, because once classes start in about three and a half weeks, I simply will not be able to update more than once every couple of weeks, and it would kill me if you stopped checking for an update, and then never found out that I had posted a new chapter.

In the meantime, review if you have something to say, nice or otherwise, and please select a story alert so you'll get an email when I post a new chapter.

One thing I would really appreciate feedback on was the first kiss. It's been a very long time since I've written or experienced one, and I want to hear especially from those of you experiencing those feelings right now in your life! I was going for intensity, but also some humor and fluff to keep things from feeling too serious between them physically, at least for now.

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** **Funny story**: My boyfriend works six days a week at five in the morning for FedEx, then goes to class, then usually goes to his other job at a restaurant. Most days, we ride together to campus, but our classes are in different buildings, so I basically see him when he picks me up and on the drive back to my parents' house. Sometimes, we're able to get together in the evenings, but he's so exhausted I feel bad keeping him awake AND we couldn't do much this week even IF he was awake, IF you get what I mean, so I have to tell you…

I am really starved for fluff of my own right now, so this chapter is chock-full of fluffy goodness.

Humbugs, cynics, and angry singles, be warned.

This chapter is dedicated to **Gatonio**, who always knows how to make a girl feel better when she's sick in bed. Thanks, Gat! Kisses.

~%%~

It took a long time for either Harry or Hermione to become aware of anything except one another in the quiet library.

Hermione was without coherent thought for the first time in a very long time, and so she spent her mental energy instead on memorizing every inch of his delicious torso.

After only a few minutes of their intense embrace, both students had shed their outer school robes—Hermione, with a slight trepidation of being caught out of uniform—because they had proven to be an unwieldy barrier in being able to hold one another. Now that he was only wearing his more basic school uniform of pants, dress shirt, vest, and tie, Hermione found it much more obvious how athletic Harry actually was. Not nearly as muscular as Viktor, no, but in a more lithe way.

She discovered that she found him far more attractive without the rippling muscles yearned for by so many of his peers, especially in the way they would suddenly appear with his movements. When he shifted around on the couch, the corresponding muscles would contract suddenly and vividly through his white button-down shirt, then disappear just as suddenly when his movement stopped. Though she had never really studied human physiology, Hermione found it endlessly fascinating that so much mass could reside on so slight a frame. She didn't think about it too much, though, because Harry kept offering her much better things to ponder, such as whether she was detecting notes of peppermint or spearmint in his breath, and noticing how much larger his hands were than she'd ever stopped to notice before, as he held the back of her neck, the small of her back, or the side of her face with each new touch of his lips.

With every embrace, Harry would tighten his arms around her suddenly, as though trying to absorb her through his skin—something Hermione certainly wouldn't argue with if he ever managed it—and then, through the following kisses, he would gradually loosen his grip as he lost himself in the wonderful tastes, smells, and sounds emanating from her, only to draw her toward him yet again as he came back to himself.

He just couldn't believe that this wonderful, amazing girl was lying here with him, on a couch in the library of the greatest school of magic in the world. For just a moment, and for the first time in years, Harry felt like a normal boy. His whole world could have occurred without magic, without ever finding out he was a wizard. He could have spent his entire youth at Number 4, Privet Drive and gone on to be a banker, or a mail boy at Uncle Vernon's drill company, and lived in Muggle London, never knowing the wonders that existed.

For one moment, Harry Potter saw how his life could have been, free of danger and worry, living as a normal, boring man. But for all the easier his life could have been, Harry suddenly felt a crushing gratitude for whatever agent of fate had allowed his to come to Hogwarts and meet this girl who had so suddenly and so quickly become the center of his universe.

It was so astounding to Harry how his life had turned out. Not because of the magic he had learned, or the dangers he'd survived, but that _this_ girl, this extraordinarily brilliant mind and unbearably kind heart had found _him _and chosen _him_ as her own.

The warmth Harry felt suddenly crashed down around him like ice water thrown upon a bonfire.

_Krum._

The thought of the Bulgarian stilled his lips as suddenly as if he'd been standing in the library with them. How _could _he have been so stupid? It had been far too much to assume that with one kiss—one very long series of kisses, really—Hermione would be his, and that he wouldn't have to fight to be with her. What in his life had ever been so easy?

His moment of enlightened contentment shriveled back into his now-habitual disgust at his own selfishness. How could he have forgotten Krum? Krum and his damned goblin ring. That arrogance of his assumptions! He had never portrayed himself as being especially noble, but Harry, having been raised in a less than kind household, had always acted by a certain set of unspoken codes of honor. One of those rules was not to covet something that couldn't be his, and certainly not to take the coveted object, or in this case, person.

Gently, but with enough force to get his point across, Harry pushed Hermione away from him. She broke the contact with a sigh of disappointment.

"It's late," he muttered, not looking at her. "We should get to bed."

"Oh." Hermione was surprised, and confused at his sudden change in mood. She hoped that she hadn't done anything to upset him, but she couldn't think of anything that might have happened. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

She quietly gathered her things, wondering all the while what had happened to their private atmosphere of intense physical closeness. Harry stood facing away from her, bag slung over one shoulder and the Invisibility Cloak dangling from his hand as he stood stock still, neither moving nor looking back toward her. If she'd been able to see his face, Hermione might have been frightened by the intense look in his eye, or the angry set to his jaw as he ground his teeth violently, using the pain to fight off his overpowering urge to break something into very small pieces.

When he became aware that her small sounds of movement had stopped, Harry leaned back across his own shoulder to mutter, "Ready to go?" He accompanied the question with a jerk of the cloak, though he had little inclination to be thrust into such close proximity with someone who tested his will so very much.

"Um, yes," Hermione replied in a very small voice. She wasn't at all sure what was going on, and her mind constantly replayed the last few hours, wondering what she could have done wrong, wondering if she'd done enough, or maybe too much.

Harry held out the cloak to her silently, keeping a grip on it and slipping underneath it after her. He gave a quick check to see that no feet or robes were escaping into sight, and they set off through the library, moving more slowly than usual through the dark passages. Hermione reached out cautiously for his hand to hold in the dark, but he chose that moment to adjust his bag over his shoulder. It was such a deft movement that Hermione wasn't quite sure if his avoidance had been intentional or not, but for the sake of not embarrassing herself, she didn't try again.

It was a long, silent walk back to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione's mind was reeling so much she felt physically ill. She couldn't think of a single reason that Harry's mood would have changed so suddenly, unless—but that couldn't be it.

Her original theory came back unbidden, the idea that Harry had simply been practicing and known she would be an understanding participant. Perhaps he'd even expected her to act with his own detached interest, and when he'd realized she wasn't at all detached, he'd put a quick and simple stop to things. Hermione didn't want to believe that he could be so callous about something like this, but she simply couldn't think of another cause, so when they finally reached the Fat Lady, who swung open sleepily without noticing that she couldn't see those entering, Hermione had drawn on a mask of indifference.

After ensuring that no one else was in the common room with them, they slipped out from under the cloak to bid one another good night.

Harry had known her long enough to understand that the stiff upper lip she was showing him was just an act, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had given her reason for that act. He owed her an apology in a very big way, but he just wasn't sure how to offer it without sounding accusatory; she had probably gotten just as lost in their embrace as he had, and he was sure that she would feel great guilt once he brought their faux pas to her attention. A girl as pure and decidedly loyal as Hermione would never have entered into such a condemnable situation as he had allowed her to of her own accord.

They stood in silence for several moments before Harry took a deep breath and said, "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

There were many things he could have said for which Hermione had braced herself, but yet another apology was not one of them. "For what?" She knew that she sounded stupid, and that her shaky tone betrayed her brave mask, but a secret, dangerous hope was growing inside of her that perhaps she had mistaken his sudden change in attitude.

"I shouldn't have—I just got so car—It wasn't something I really meant to have happen, you have to know that. Don't you?" There was a hint of pleading in his voice, and a look in his eyes begging her to understand, which she of course did. The small bubble of hope burst in her chest like a child's balloon that's been let go and floated too high.

"Of course, Harry."

"Good." He looked relieved, and it made her want to hit him. "And of course," he added quickly, "no one needs to know."

"Of course not." When would he be done talking, so she could leave him and go heave up her rioting stomach?

"And obviously, I'll never tell Kr—Viktor. I promise, this'll just be between you and me for as long as—"

"What?" How did he keep doing that? Hermione wondered. Just as she thought she had his reasons figured out, it was something completely unexpected coming from him. "Viktor?"

"Yes, Viktor. I can't believe I didn't think of him sooner and put things to a stop, but I swear to you Hermione, I won't tell him. If you want to, that's your choice, obviously, but I'm not going to risk starting something betw—"

But she put up a hand to halt his nervous babbling. A very interesting thought was occurring to her, a reason for Harry's surprising change of heart that she had not previously entertained. With what she knew of Harry and his obviously high moral standards for himself, it was a completely plausible line of reasoning for him to have taken so feel as though he had breached some duty of honor, and she decided to test this new theory.

"How much of this is about Viktor, and how much is about us?" Now that she had a better idea of where this was going, Hermione was feeling more confident in speaking.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you upset because I'm spoken for, or because you were worried about giving me the wrong idea about your—" She had to choke out the word. "Feelings for me?"

Her words confused and excited him. He was confused, because, why would a taken woman ask such a question, especially one whom he knew to be as loyal and unwavering as Hermione? Which led to the exciting conclusion of whether or not she was in fact a taken woman, though given their conversation of just the night before, Harry wondered if it were possible for her to no longer be promised to Krum, or at least requested by him.

"I think I gave you a pretty strong idea of those," he finally answered, bravely drawing her near to him again and running the palm of his hand down her cheek. "Were my intentions well received?"

"I think that's a fairly safe assumption for you to make." She paused for a moment, and then added, "And just so you know, Harry, I've written Viktor a letter. There are no longer any bonds holding us together, besides those of friendship if he chooses to accept them."

"When did you send it?" He was so close now she could feel his breath in her hair.

"I haven't yet, I only wrote it this afternoon. But it's right here in my bag," she offered tentatively.

"It doesn't count until you've at least _sent_ the letter," he murmured, smelling the clean, bright smell of her hair, more lemony than her taste. Viktor had been right to sing the praises of her scent, and Harry wondered jealously for a moment if Krum had known the wonders of her flavor. "Really, it shouldn't count until he knows, but I'm making an exception because you're so hopelessly irresistible."

"Perhaps we should go send it?" she suggested in little more than a whisper.

"You look tired," he replied, kissing her forehead. "I'll send it with Hedwig."

"He'll know she's not my owl." She bit her lip in apprehension, and was surprised when Harry groaned.

"Don't do that." The words rumbled out of his throat while he closed his eyes, trying not to think of the delicious sight of her lips caught between her teeth, nor of how good they would taste between his own. "I'm not going to let myself kiss you again until that letter is at least on its way to Bulgaria, even though that shouldn't really count as you and he not being together any longer. And I really want to keep kissing you, so please don't make this harder by chewing on your lip and furrowing your brow like that. It's just torture, Hermione."

"Hedwig looks nothing like my owl," Hermione whispered, reminding him of their conversation.

"Then he'll know you've got a good reason for dumping him. Personally, I think you're good off to be shot of him, the great hulking brute."

"That's not very nice, Harry," Hermione said. "Just because you've just stolen his girl doesn't mean you've got to be rude about it."

"Do you care?" Harry wondered, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not really, no." Hermione tried poorly to stifle a giggle, covering her mouth in embarrassment. She'd been a schoolgirl for over half her life, and she'd never giggled like one quite as much as she did around Harry.

She took a moment to collect herself enough to say seriously, "Look, if you want to send the letter, that's fine, but use a school owl, not Hedwig, please."

The pleading look on her face would have gotten her anything she wanted from him, so Harry smiled ruggedly at her and threw the cloak on, holding the folded parchment like a glass treasure as he exited the common room. Sinking into an armchair, Hermione curled up, protecting herself against the chill creeping through the windows from the snowy night outside and fell into a soft doze.

Harry moved quickly through the corridors in his eagerness to get back to Hermione, moving with less care than he usually did when outside Gryffindor Tower after hours. He hadn't said anything, but her statement about stealing Krum's girl had lifted his spirits immeasurably, and he could hardly wait to see her again and claim his prize.

When he reached the Owlery, Harry paused for a moment to offer Hedwig a treat and to murmur softly to her. When he rolled up the letter to Viktor, she held out her foot expectantly, fluttering away in a swoop of angry wings when he moved to another owl with an apologetic glance in her direction.

"It's freezing out there, you feathery cow!" he shouted up at her through the rafters. "Did you really want to go out on a delivery tonight? I'd never find you in all that snow!"

Despite his angry tone, Hedwig seemed satisfied by Harry's logic, and came back down to give him a mostly affectionate bite to the ear before he left.

On his way out the Owlery door, Harry turned to watch the plain brown barn owl flying away with Hermione's letter until it too had disappeared into the darkness and sheet of white snow over the distant mountains. Although a part of him felt badly for Krum's loss, he couldn't believe his good fortune in finally having a chance at being with Hermione.

Now that he was sure she was free for him to pursue, Harry began to think of all the wonderful wooing he would get to do for her. Though, he thought with a smile, her reactions earlier in the night had shown him that very little wooing would be needed to coerce her to his way of thinking, he still wanted to show her that he could be romantic, even if he sometimes needed to practice ahead of time.

Shaking his head at his own foolish attempt at complimenting Hermione's sweetness earlier, Harry slipped back under the Invisibility Cloak and bounced jovially down the stairs. The possibility of Hermione being his, at long last seemed more and more real with each step he took.

As he rounded the end of the staircase out of the Owlery, Harry had to make a viciously quiet and shockingly sudden stop to avoid running into Snape and Malfoy, who were standing in a shadow just outside the door. Malfoy glanced up skittishly in the direction of Harry's invisible form, but Snape took no notice of any noise he may have made. He was far too busy glaring down at Malfoy in a manner far more threatening than the Head of Slytherin House usually exercised with his own students.

"You're quite sure?" Snape whispered fiercely, looming over the blond student. "There is no possibility that it could have been incidental?"

"None," Malfoy replied in a clear, strong voice, though the smug tone he normally carried was absent tonight, "and the signs have been getting stronger from both."

"That's not good enough," Snape snapped. "You must be absolutely sure of the situation. There can be no mistakes. You know the consequences."

"I know." This time, a hint of fear leaked into his voice, and for the first time, Harry thought of Draco Malfoy as a child as young and unsure of the future as he was. It was a deeply unsettling moment of empathy for which he was unprepared, but Harry had far better things to do with his night than wonder why Malfoy was being berated by Snape.

Holding his breath, Harry crept as silently as possible past the two Slytherins until he was a safe enough distance to take off running back toward the common room and Hermione, whom he hoped fervently was still waiting for him in front of the fireplace. Normally quite stealthy when wandering about the castle at night, tonight Harry ran full-speed through the black corridors, the Cloak flying wildly out behind him. If anyone had been passing and looked down toward the floor, they would have seen disembodied shoes and perhaps a flapping set of black school robes.

When he entered the common room, Harry at first thought that Hermione had retired to bed, but when he moved toward his book bag to store the Cloak, he saw the she had fallen asleep on the armchair where he'd left her, curled tightly into a ball. He stared at her for only a few moments before she jerked awake, aware of his presence. Harry felt a small secret thrill to know he affected her even in her sleep.

"Are you cold?" His eyes flashed concern down at her, and Hermione's chest gave an uncharacteristic _thump_.

"Only a bit," she whispered bravely. "It's not really that b-b-b-bad."

"Come here, you silly thing," Harry laughed at her bravado, opening his outer robes and pulling her up and inside of them, another trick he'd learned from sneaking Petunia's favorite old movies. He led her over to the largest couch in the common room, long enough for them to lay on comfortably, and moved it closer to the dying fire. Without the usual blaze, it was downright frigid in the huge stone room, and Harry quickly pulled Hermione tighter into his arms when he caught her shivering from the corner of his eye.

"I've sent the letter with a school owl, just like you requested," he murmured into her hair. "I hope you hadn't changed your mind after I left."

"Of course not," she replied calmly. "Thank you, by the way," she added, sitting up slightly in the circle of his arms. "I'm not sure I'd have had the nerve to do that myself. Thank you for listening to me last night. And for…the other things." She smiled brilliantly up at him, just inviting him down for another kiss, with which he was more than happy to oblige her.

Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall stood by, watching with motherly affection as the two students gripped one another more tightly than ever. Both had known this would happen one day, but they were nevertheless thrilled that their reasonable advice had finally been tossed aside. The lion stood beside them fiercely, his proud roar drowning out every other thought in Harry's head except the girl finally in his arms.

The couple were so enchanted with one another in the darkness of the common room that they did not notice the sun coming up, other than Harry appreciating a dark chestnut glint that came off of Hermione's usually light hair. They also didn't know that Ron had sat up for most of the night waiting to talk to Harry, and wondering with growing suspicion why Harry hadn't yet returned from the library, even wondering if that's where they'd gone at all.

In Ron's mind, his darkest suspicions of being abandoned by his best friends were confirmed beyond any doubt when he walked into the Gryffindor common room very early that morning and found them sharing the largest couch in front of the fireplace, still very awake and far too involved in one another to have been paying attention to noises on the staircase.

They couldn't hear a single thing outside of their own voices, breathy sighs, and whispered names. Their first tug back to reality in several hours came from a banging door from the boys' staircase. The young lovers scrambled to rearrange themselves on the limited surface offered by the cushy sofa, immediately freezing in place when Harry raised a hand indicating they should be quiet.

"You heard that, right?" he whispered. "Someone just shut a door upstairs?"

"I really don't think it's that big of a deal," she replied huskily, trying to pull him back down into her embrace.

"No, seriously Hermione." He hooked his ankle around her knee and, with a quick twist of his hips, pulled himself to the outside edge, so that they were facing one another on their sides, and he was able to look toward the boys' staircase.

"Do you care?" Hermione whispered teasingly.

Harry sat up around her, still balancing her on the couch without really thinking about it. His Quidditch training and fighting experience really were quite useful in everyday applications, she though appreciatively. He listened for a moment to see if anyone was on their way down the stairs, and then, satisfied that it had been someone entering another room, deciding not to think about whether they'd been seen until it was confirmed, he turned back to Hermione and replied, "Not really, no."

She grinned and reached up to his neck, drawing him back down into her arms. Harry went quite willingly, resolving to listen closely the next day for any enhanced rumors.

And the snog-fest recommenced.

~%%~

**A/N**: So, I'm so, so very sorry that took so long to get finished, especially those reviewers who were promised an update for Friday. I kept writing versions that I hated, and my exam took a bit more preparation this week than they usually do. But while you're waiting for the next chapter, please check out my new oneshot, Totally Boggled. It's a R/Hr lemony goodness fluff piece, inspired by my repeated viewings of HBP.

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 7** came from **gravacor**, a consistently awesome reader, who said: "Their talk was good, when he was stumbling, but went slightly cheesy with the blatant flattery. I think this is practice that Harry will be more than happy to work on."

In response, if anyone can think of a hilarious one-liner or something for Harry to practice, I'd be more than thrilled to hear and/or use it in later chapters! Also, I think I've got a love interest for Ron, a little off the beaten path, but….we'll see. So if you can think of silly things for Ron to say, I think we could all have a bit of fun with that!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay! Classes just started, and it's been crazy. But I stayed up all night to complete this for you guys, so I'm hoping for some feedback to prove there's still someone reading me!

Please have a look at the **forum for One Kiss From You**, where I'll address all of your **questions**, and we can have some general fun discussion of fics!

~%%~

It was shortly after sunrise when the young lovers fell into a contented sleep on the deep red sofa, Hermione curled delicately into Harry's side, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder. She slept soundly, folded into his arms, and still surprised by how strongly he was able to hold her, even in his sleep. It wasn't the four-poster bed she was used to, but there was something safe and warm in sleeping next to Harry that just wasn't there when she and Crookshanks cuddled against the winter nights. Her dreams were serene and calm, innocent fantasies of she and Harry flitting through her mind's eye.

Quite to the contrary, Harry's dreams were once again troubled by the blinding green lights. He didn't understand what these lights were or what they meant, but he was realizing that the green flashes weren't the light of a spell or curse, though what they were, he had no idea.

The dream, innocent in itself, had a tone of foreboding that would not let Harry sleep soundly. For some reason, it made him feel oddly protective of the girl in his arms, and in his sleep, his arms jerked violently, pulling Hermione suddenly out of her pleasant dreams with a surprised whimper.

As she pulled herself into consciousness, confused as to her surroundings, and wondering who on earth was in bed with her, Hermione came to awareness of her surroundings. Slowly, she realized that Harry had pulled her flush against the length of his body, twitching spastically and grunting. At first, Hermione blushed fiercely, suspecting him of dishonorable dreams, but his demeanor was far too defensive for that. Though she was crushed flat against his chest, she could tell that Harry was reacting as though to something dangerous, and if he was asleep as she suspected, to a nightmare of some kind.

"Harry." From her position of limited maneuverability, she shook him lightly, trying to escape the confines of his arms.

As he became slightly more aware of what was happening around him, the focus of Harry's dream moved from the strange, unidentifiable green light to the unknown assailant who was trying to pull a sleeping Hermione away from the meek protection he could offer. In response to this perceived assault, Harry clung even more tightly to Hermione, wrapping his arms as closely as he could manage about her waist and shoulders.

"Harry." She spoke a bit louder, now pressed uncomfortably tight against him. She wriggled enough to be able to press her palms against his side, pushing against him with her relatively small strength. "Harry! Let go of me!"

Her words pulled him out of his strange dream world, and he sat up with a jerk, earning a surprised squeak from Hermione. He stared around for a few moments in confusion, then flopped back against the couch with a sigh of relief, running a hand through his morning hair.

"What time is it?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Early though," she replied, looking at him with worried eyes. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Er, I think so." The troubling anxiety from his dream was trying to lick its way into his waking conscious. He looked at Hermione for a moment, opened his mouth as though to speak, then thought better of it, snapping his mouth shut and glancing edgily up the staircases and toward the portrait hole, checking for any signs of other people in the common room with them.

"Harry?"

He couldn't name the feeling growing in his chest with each glance at Hermione, but it wasn't a happy one. There was a terror growing inside him, an itching feeling that she wasn't safe, that something bad would happen to her. Harry didn't know what he would ever do if something happened to any of his friends, and with this new role Hermione had suddenly taken in his life, he wasn't sure what he could do to protect her.

"I'm not sure about this."

"About what, Harry?" But even as she spoke, her heart was falling. This repetitive up and down of emotions with Harry was getting very old, very quickly. She wished he would just make up his mind and tell her what he wanted.

"I'm—I'm concerned," he began, looking earnestly up at her from where he lay on the couch. With a sigh, he pulled himself up to be sitting next to her, and pulled her near him, already uncomfortable to not be touching her after spending the night so closely intertwined. Remembering her insecurities when it came to his feelings for her, he added, "And please don't take this the wrong way."

"Harry," she sighed resignedly, "will you please stop teasing and just tell me one way or the other? Do you want to be with me or not?"

"Yes, I do, Hermione," he replied sincerely. "But I don't think we should tell anyone. Well, Ron, obviously, but I don't want anyone else knowing. I'm concerned—"

"Yes, you said that, but why?" she replied icily. Although she trusted he would have a perfectly good reason, she could feel her natural inclination to assume the worst of herself creeping into the forefront of her mind.

"I've got this feeling—and don't ask my where it's coming from, because it's just one of those things—that something bad might happen to you if the wrong person finds out how much you m—finds out about us." Even saying it aloud made it sound so much more stupid. Was he really so arrogant as to think his girlfriend was in constant danger just for being connected to him? "I know it sounds insane, Hermione. But please, please just for now?"

"That's not fair," she mused.

"I know, Hermione, and if you don't want to even bother with me, I'd understand. I wouldn't like it, of course," he added quickly, "but it would be a fair decision for you to make."

"No, that's not what I meant." She grinned impishly at him from where she was settled in his lap. "I meant how unfair it is that any girl here would give her wand hand to be with you, and now that we've got the chance to be together, we can't tell anyone for all the trouble they'd make for me."

Harry laughed with her, hiding his true concern behind his eyes. He wasn't sure how she would react to his confession that he was worried for more than a stray jinx tossed in the corridors. With Voldemort back to his body and eager for revenge, there were far darker forces that might be ready to hunt Harry down through any avenue available, and for Hermione to be discovered as such a weakness to him, to be exploited as his weakness, was completely unacceptable.

So they would have to hide.

"You promise me, Hermione?" he asked earnestly. "No one will know about this? Not even the Gryffindors, and especially not the Slytherins. Please?"

"So we'll act just like always?" She didn't look pleased, and Harry couldn't blame her. The idea of acknowledging their feelings in private and then having to go on as they had before in public was not an attractive one. "Pretending as though nothing's changed?"

"I don't like it either, but—"

"Harry, this is about more than the other girls, isn't it?" She glared demandingly up at him. "You're not just doing this to protect me from jealous students."

"You're too smart for my own good, Hermione," he teased affectionately, hoping it would distract her from her question.

It didn't work, and she continued to stare at him intensely, waiting for his response.

"No, it's not about the other girls," he finally conceded, tucking away a mental not that he would never win an argument against this beautiful girl, not with those intense eyes waiting for him to break under their gaze. He knew that ten times out of ten, he would break, and so he said, "I just have this sense of foreboding. I have enemies, Hermione, and since Voldemort's come back to power, I might have new enemies I don't even know about.

"Harry," she chided lightly. "This is _Hogwarts_ we're talking about. You-Know-Who wouldn't dare set foot here, not with Professor Dumbledore around."

"He had a spy in Hogwarts just last year, Hermione, a teacher! And Quirrell in first year," he reminded her. "It's not impossible for him to have someone watching me, even now. If Voldemort somehow finds out that you mean—mean more to me than the others, I—I—I can't bear to even think how he might use that against me."

"Harry, I—" But he cut her off.

"Hermione, he killed my father first, did you know that?" He was desperate to make her understand, and his sudden change in topic surprised her out of her argument. "He killed my father, to show my mother he was serious about getting me, to try to make her give up. He doesn't understand love, and he can't probably feel it at all, but he knows how to use it against people, and if he can, I know he'll use it against me."

Any retort Hermione might have thought of would have been stilled as he brought up the idea of love. She knew how he meant it, but still. It wasn't the sort of thing a girl heard from a boy their age very often. But Hermione had not been planning any response. The image of a grown Harry, lying dead on the floor was trapped in her mind. She saw herself screaming in grief, carrying a baby in her arms and running from her dark assailant. And she saw Harry, poor baby Harry, crying in the arms of a dead woman.

Hermione jumped when Harry reached up and wiped a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I didn't mean to make you cry again."

She shook her head in response, silent tears still falling down her cheeks as she realized what it must have done to his mother, watching her husband die and knowing that she and her baby were next. For the first time, she really appreciated the horror that had started off Harry's life, and she understood his concern for her.

"Alright," she whispered as she gained control of herself. "We won't tell anyone."

~%%~

**A/N**: I am so sorry this took so long, but if it makes you feel any better, I was struck with inspiration at about four this morning, and I made myself get to 1,000 words before going to bed, but then I was on a roll, and I just stuck with it and finished this chapter. Now, I'm trying to decide if I want to go to bed at all, or if I should just stick it out, as it's currently just after seven thirty in the morning. Hopefully you'll all get an update email to start off your day!!!

I promise the next chapter will be up soon, and will have the **confrontation with Ron, Lavender and Parvati**, and we'll find out how tough it is to pretend not to be with some one. If you thought it was tough for them not to say anything to anyone before they'd told each other, just you wait and see how tough the secret is once a couple people know.

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 5** came from **The Colossus of Enigma**, who said: "I think your overbearing lead up to Harry and Hermione hooking up was pulled off most effectively. It wasn't too long, it was just right. You see: Nine chapters is too long, but eight, eight is just right." I'm glad you enjoyed the first eight chapters, and hopefully the overbearing lead up will continue as their relationship progresses to the given rating!

Don't forget, check the **forum for One Kiss From You **for any and all questions, and just to chat with the author (me!), and make sure you have a **Story/Author Alert** set, so you can be sure to get that update email!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Wow, this took a long time to get out, over a month, but I'm really happy with the way the confrontations with Ron and Lavender & Parvati go. I hope you are too, and I hope I didn't lose too many readers in the interim!

Like I said before, your best bet is to sign up for **Story Alerts**, so you can be sure to get my updates! Enjoy!

~%%~

It wasn't a pleasant feeling for Hermione as she watched Harry cross the common room toward the boys' dormitories, but it wasn't an entirely bad feeling, either. It was a bit lonely that only she and Harry would be able to know about their happiness. It somehow dampened the excitement of a new relationship to not be able to share it with anyone, but at the same time, a secret thrill was already growing in her at the prospect of a cloak and dagger affair.

"Harry?" She had just remembered Ron.

He turned on the spot midway through the rectangle of morning sun shining through a window. The light glittered across his glasses as it reflected off the snow outside, and Hermione caught her breath as he responded. "Yes?"

"What are we going to tell Ron?"

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair again. His headache was beginning to surface again and he'd forgotten that he still had to face Ron. "I'm not sure," he said at last. He moved a few steps back toward Hermione, reaching out to take her hands in his own. "I'll talk to him, but—well, that's what we were talking about in class yesterday when he jinxed me. He's worried that we're abandoning him. So, I'm not sure how well he'll react. But, for now…let's just say that we should be especially careful around him, alright?"

"Yes, alright." She had been suspecting since the previous afternoon the contents of Harry's and Ron's heated discussion, but the confirmation unnerved her. She knew that Ron had had a crush on her sometime in their third year, but he seemed to have quickly gotten over that, and she hoped he wasn't hurt by she and Harry. She didn't want to be the cause of another rift in their friendship like the Tri-Wizard Tournament had two years before. Ron had a way about him of assuming people were out to get him, and if he discovered that they were together before Harry had a chance to tell him—Hermione shuddered at the thought. "Well, we'd better get to bed. You've got some explaining to do."

"I suppose." Harry pulled her into a hug, and despite their embraces of the night before, there was a certain air of awkwardness between them, as Hermione wondered whether or not it would be appropriate to kiss him. She deferred the decision to Harry, pulling away from the hug slightly, but not stepping back. He sighed in frustration.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking," he replied with a smirk, "that this'll be the last one of the day."

She grinned broadly. "Better make it a good one."

He did.

~%%~

"Hello there!"

"Where have you been all night?"

Hermione suppressed a groan as Lavender and Parvati greeted her from where they sat on Lavender's bed in their pajamas brushing each other's hair. But as she remembered where she had been all night, a slow grin crept across her face as she leapt for joy inside her head with Lockhart, thinking about she and Harry in the library…she and Harry on the sofa…she and Harry just then downstairs. She knew it wasn't subtle, but she couldn't help the giddiness sweeping over her as she stood leaning against the close door of the girls' dormitory.

The two other girls screamed in delight, and Hermione heard Lavender shriek, "You were right, Parvati!"

This brought her swiftly back down to earth as her reasonable side kicked in, Professor McGonagall demanding that she discover their suspicions. "What do you mean?"

"Weren't you with Harry all night?" As soon as the question was out of Parvati's mouth, the two silly girls fell into bouts of laughter, and Hermione kicked herself for not having straightened out her story with Harry.

"Er—no," she answered, but even to her, it was a pitiful attempt at a lie.

"Oh no?" Lavender squealed. "Then why was Ron alone in the common room all night?"

_Not all night_, she thought impishly. "I haven't the faintest."

"What are you so damn happy about, then, Granger?"

"Well if you must know," Hermione began, letting the grin steal across her face again as she reminisced briefly about the night before, and enjoying immensely the baited looks on her roommates' faces, "I spent all night doing my Arithmancy homework, and I'm almost sure I've gotten full marks on it!" Hermione nearly laughed aloud at the stupefied looks she received from the dumbfounded Lavender and Parvati. This really could be quite a bit of fun. She clapped her hands delightedly and fluttered to her bed. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get just a bit of rest before class."

"But—you can't—but— Really, that's all? I mean—_Hermione!_" They spluttered indignantly for some time at her story, but in the end agreed with a knowing look between them that it was exactly the kind of thing to excite Hermione Granger. Rolling over so that they could not see her, Hermione grinned excitedly, glad that she'd been able to play her part so convincingly.

Hermione dozed off into a comfortable sleep, enjoying the comfort of her four poster bed more than she ever had before. She could not keep the grin from her face. Even in sleep, all she could think about was Harry. Harry and his amazing hidden muscles, his lips, his breath, his pungent spicy smell, oh and the breathy words he'd whispered into her lips between kisses.

"I suppose we should have known," Parvati muttered sulkily as they made their way down the stairs, though Hermione could hear their conversation echoing up the stone stairwell. "I mean, really, Harry Potter and…Granger?"

"Yes," Lavender agreed readily. "What's she got that could possibly attract him?"

"Nothing, that's what."

Her mood slightly dampened, Hermione rolled over onto her back, snuggling deep into her comforter and trying to ignore what the other girls had said about her. What was the point, she wondered, of having a secret boyfriend if you couldn't tell anyone about him?

~%%~

After leaving Hermione in the common room, Harry paused a moment outside the broad oak door between himself and the sixth year boys' dormitory. Although he knew Ron would be asleep—it could hardly be past seven in the morning—he was incredibly nervous, and after Ron's explosion of the day before, suspected his message would not be received very well. But perhaps, he thought, Ron had been upset in thinking they weren't telling him, and now that Harry was coming clean, he would be thrilled? Knowing his friend as he did, Harry doubted that would be the case. In either outcome though, he'd be able to spend an extra hour or so in bed; he wasn't feeling very hungry.

With a deep breath, as though preparing to jump in with the sharks, Harry gently pushed open the heavy door, wincing when it creaked loudly. As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he was able to make out the form of Ron, not tucked under his covers, or even splayed out across the mattress as was usually the case in the morning, but rather slumped against the headboard of his bed, as though he had fallen asleep waiting for Harry to return.

This was a very bad sign.

As much as he would have liked to have waited until the others woke up, Harry wasn't quite sure that their presence would lessen Ron's reaction, and this wasn't a discussion he wanted to have publicly. As quietly as he could manage, Harry crept to his wardrobe and changed clothes, wondering if he should go bathe before waking Ron. However, he had to admit even to himself that that was a cowardly excuse to not have to face his best friend's rather famous rage. In an attempt to calm himself down, Harry stopped to ask himself why Ron would possibly be angry with him. After all, it wasn't as though he—Ron—knew anything for sure; how could he? Harry and Hermione had only discovered it themselves the night before, and there was no way Ron could have—

But Harry suddenly remembered the slamming of the door that had pulled him out of his Hermione-induced state of nirvana, and the taste of bile suddenly rose to his mouth. If Ron had heard them…come down to see what they were doing…and seen them wrapped up in one another… Harry cursed under his breath and glanced over to Ron's bed to find Ron staring at him, malice plain upon his face.

"Morning." He'd tried to sound bracingly cheerful, but the tremble in Harry's voice gave him away at once.

"Had a good night, did you?" Though his words were civil enough, the tone was clipped and indifferent. So he had seen them, Harry thought with a sinking stomach. When he could not think of anything to say, Ron continued angrily, "I suppose you'd best get dressed. Hermione'll be sure to be waiting for you, won't she? A little lovers' breakfast?"

Ron's voice was getting louder, and Harry was concerned it might wake the other boys. It would be just his luck for Ron to wake them and have all of Gryffindor knowing about he and Hermione by lunch. Knowing it would anger Ron, knowing that it would probably make things worse, and knowing most importantly, that it might protect Hermione, Harry raised a finger to his lips and whispered, "Careful, you'll wake the others."

"'Careful, you'll wake the others,'" Ron mocked petulantly, but he still lowered his voice by a smidge. "Don't you want everyone to know about your happy news? Or is this a game of keeping everyone in the dark, not just stupid, lonely, little Weasleys? But I suppose that's all part of the fun, isn't it? Have some intrigue to keep fanning the flames?" Despite his best efforts to shush his hot-tempered friend, Ron's voice was once again growing louder with each bitingly sarcastic query.

"Ron, please," Harry whispered desperately. "I'm sorry you found out the way you did, but just come downstairs with me, and I'll explain it all."

"I don't think I care to know all the gory details, thanks." The hurt in Ron's eyes was unmistakable, but Harry knew that there was no way he could acknowledge that hurt without making the situation much, much worse for himself.

"It wasn't—we didn't—" Harry couldn't think of a detailed enough summation to get Ron downstairs before he exploded into the wave of rage that Harry could see bubbling beneath the surface. "We weren't meaning to. It's so new! It just—it just happened last night, I swear!"

"Do you really think I'm that thick?" Ron stood from his bed now, his pajamas dangling several inches above his ankles and his fists clenched at his bare hips. When midriff began appearing between the top and bottom of his pajamas that fall, Ron had stopped wearing his nightshirt after several rounds of verbal lashings from Harry, Seamus, and Dean. Only kind little Neville had stepped out of the taunting, and now Harry wished that he had joined him on the sidelines, so as to give Ron one less reason to be upset with him. "Just last night? Anyone can see it's been longer than that. Harry, I _asked_ you about it earlier this week! I _asked _you, and you _lied_ to my _face_, and I never even suspected, it never occurred to me that you'd— How long has it been going on, really?"

"I'm not lying to you Ron." Harry was desperate to make Ron understand, and especially to get him to shut up before anyone could overhear their conversation. "Two nights ago, Hermione was upset, and we talked in the common room after you'd gone to bed—Just listen!" Harry held up a hand to Ron, who looked ready to burst. "And I—well, I kissed her after she'd fallen asleep, only well, not. Look, that's the only part I didn't tell you about, and that's just because I felt so damn stupid for doing it. And then last night I was going to tell you, but then Hermione needed to go to the library, so we went with my cloak, and—and while we were there I—" Harry paused, not sure whether Hermione would want him to share this part of their nocturnal adventures. "—I found out that she'd been awake when I kissed her, so to make up for a stolen first kiss, well, I—I tried again. And it just sort of…took off from there," he finished lamely.

For several seconds, neither of them said anything, and Harry didn't have the nerve to look up and see Ron's reaction to his story. After a full tense minute, he finally got up the nerve to look at Ron, only a few feet away now, and saw the crushed look on his best friend's face. But when he saw Harry looking at him with a glimmer of pity, Ron quickly became enraged once again.

"I don't believe you." He hissed it through his teeth, too angry and hurt to even consider Harry's explanation.

"What?" Now Harry was getting mad. His headache was back with a vengeance, and he had wanted to get another potion from Madam Pomfrey before breakfast, not stand here taking abuse from Ron. Why was he the one with the stupid best friend who would never listen to reason? "Why would I be lying to you about this?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ron snapped, "maybe so that you could keep me in the dark, hoping I wouldn't notice that you two never talk to me anymore, or that you're always lost on each others' eyes, or whatever disgusting things you two do when I'm not around."

"We don't get lost in each others' eyes!" Harry burst out angrily. Immediately, he clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing he had been far too loud. Neville rolled over in his sleep, grunting softly, and Harry held his breath, waiting to find out if he would wake up.

Though he half expected Ron to jump on Neville's bed as though it were Christmas, yelling, "Wake up Neville, Harry's got good news!", Ron seemed to understand that Harry didn't want this news shared. Then again, maybe he was just waiting until everyone was awake before he said anything to them, but Harry didn't want to think about it. He watched Neville's still-sleeping form with baited breath, willing him to settle back into sleep. When Neville's snoring took up its usual rhythm, and Harry was confident that Neville would not awake, he turned back to his fuming friend.

"Please, Ron, I—I'm—I'm scared for her." He held his hands out entreatingly to Ron, who rolled his eyes infuriatingly. "We've decided not to tell anyone but you, because I'm afraid something bad might happen to her."

Ron snorted derisively, sneering down at Harry, who couldn't understand why Ron was being so difficult about this whole situation. He should be happy for them, not feeling resentful and abandoned.

"We wanted you to know," Harry repeated, begging with his voice for Ron to accept them. "We weren't trying to keep you in the dark, I swear. In fact, we decided to tell you, and no one else, because we trust you, and we know you'll do whatever you can to help keep her safe."

"Listen to you." Ron was nearly choking on his bitterness now, and feeling humiliatingly close to the verge of tears. "Just listen to yourself. It's already '_we_ want you to know,' '_we_ trust you, Ron.' I'm already not a part of it anymore. Soon it'll just be 'us, and Ron,'" he spat out harshly, making his own name sound like an afterthought.

"No, Ron, we just—"

But Ron strode toward him, arm pulled back.

~%%~

**A/N**: Okay, this isn't where I wanted to end the chapter, but I figured that six weeks is way too long to keep ya'll waiting. I've got a couple pages already done on the next chapter, and I'll have some spare time this week, so I'll do my best to get the next chapter up ASAP.

**A poll for my readers**: Do you have a preference for **longer chapters** (5,000+ words) that take **a month or two** to get up, or **more frequent, shorter chapters** with only a couple of week in between?

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 9** came from **gravacor**, who said: "I can just imagine how hard it will be for them to hide their new found relationship. The funny thing is, they are already close, some touching will be unnoticeable, however, it is easy to go too far. Lol, I guess pinching her butt might give the wrong idea."

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Again, check out this fic I'm working on with **beccalyse**, **Eyes Turned Skyward**. She is the Alpha to my beta, and she always astounds me with every new chapter of awesome she sends me to read!

~%%~

Before Harry could register the pain of being struck, he realized that he was tumbling backwards down the stairs into the common room. While he and Ron had been arguing around their roommates who were sleeping in on their late day, most of the rest of the Gryffindors had gotten out of bed and were milling about the common room in an early morning haze, including Hermione, who had given up on sleep and come downstairs to meet Harry and Ron for breakfast.

When Harry rolled violently out of the staircase, he came to a graceless halt against the leg of a spindly table, upon which sat a large lit candelabra. When Harry had gathered his mind enough to open his eyes, he gasped and immediately covered his face as he saw the flames of the three white candles just inches from his face. Waiting for the heat, he slowly opened one eye to see that the flickering orange flames were actually moving away from him. He sat up in confusion to find Ginny gently placing the candelabra back onto the table with a flick of her wand from where she sat across the room.

A great round of laughter and applause broke out as Harry stood up, brushing himself off. Not sure how to react, he laughed along in good humor, only nodding embarrassedly as he was thoroughly taunted by his fellow students for having fallen down the stairs. As he caught Hermione's concerned glance, it turned to suspicion and then fury as she looked past the place he was standing. He followed her gaze to find Ron moving along the wall toward the portrait hole, scowling deeply at her.

Without really thinking about his reaction, Harry rotated his upper body toward Ron, bending his knees ever so slightly. It was a defensive position, a preparation for counter-attack, a direct response to Ron's apparent malevolence toward Hermione, and all three knew it. Hermione flushed slightly, Harry relaxed his position almost as soon as he'd assumed it, and Ron clenched his fists, stalking out through the portrait hole.

The interaction between the three went unnoticed by most of the other Gryffindors, their backs turned to Ron. Ginny, however, did see his reaction to his two friends, and with a furrowed brow, she looked carefully at Harry's body language and the very careful way in which Hermione did not look at him, though her face flamed in clear awareness of his posture. She wondered what could have caused such a rift in the golden trio, and resolved to find out.

~%%~

When Madam Pomfrey asked him later, Harry told her that he had tripped and fallen down the stairs. He was decently sure that she didn't believe him, but as was her custom, she didn't press for a more convincing answer. Harry was more surprised that she'd accepted his request not to heal black eye blossoming on the right side of his face. Wordlessly, she had handed him a smelly pumice to reduce the pain and another spoonful of her lavender headache potion, and when Harry glanced at his reflection in a window on the way to breakfast, he was grateful to see the large purple-blue bruise still there. He wasn't sure why he was hesitant to have it removed magically, but Harry had to admit that a part of him wanted Ron to face what he'd done, and perhaps be a bit ashamed.

With his detour to the hospital wing, Harry was late enough for breakfast that very few people were still in the Great Hall when he finally arrived. A few third years hovered over the Daily Prophet on the near end of the table, but neither Ron nor Hermione were at the breakfast table. Of the few students still eating breakfast, Harry chose Ginny to sit next to. She was reading her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook with a furrowed brow, but looked up when he took his seat, reaching for eggs and kippers before they vanished back to the kitchens.

"Hello th—what on earth happened to you?" Ginny interrupted her own greeting in shock as she took in the mark on Harry's face.

He grinned sheepishly, which seemed to be the appropriate response. He hadn't thought of what to say before getting down to breakfast, but with Ginny on his right side, there was no way she wouldn't have noticed. "Got in a fight." He didn't know how many details he could give Ginny without her figuring things out. Most people didn't think of her as anything more than the youngest Weasley, but Harry knew her to be much more perceptive than she usually got credit for.

"With Malfoy?" She looked concernedly across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, but the students who usually sat there had already left for class. "I heard what happened yesterday…are you alright?"

"No, it wasn't Malfoy," Harry assured her. "It was just—just a thing, earlier. No big deal." It was a lame explanation, but Ginny seemed to accept it without question, just as Madam Pomfrey had. She turned the page of her book, returning to her studying.

"Hermione was looking for you earlier," she added casually, after a moment of silence.

Harry was surprised at the jolt in his chest to hear this. Of course, he'd been thinking of Hermione since the moment he'd watched her disappear up the girls' staircase at the crack of dawn, but to think that she'd been missing him as well thrilled him more than he cared to admit even to himself.

"Was she?" He tried to sound casual as he liberally salted his eggs, and he tried to glance at Ginny surreptitiously to see if she was convinced, but his swollen eye made that difficult. "Wonder what she wanted?"

Ginny snorted without looking up at him. "Yeah, alright," she conceded sarcastically. "Well, you'll know soon enough." She answered Harry's questioning gaze with a tilt of her chin toward the doors of the Great Hall.

Harry turned and his mouth went dry watching Hermione walk down the long line of tables. Having worn them every school year for the past four and a half years, Harry had never put much thought into the simple Hogwarts school robes. But watching the heavy fabric of Hermione's black winter robes billow out around the uniform underneath, Harry's breath caught sharply in his throat.

There was nothing immodest or scandalous about the cut of the flannel skirts and white Oxford shirts worn by most of the female residents of Hogwarts, and they were usually covered by the volumes of androgynous black school robes, regardless. But there was something in the way Hermione strode purposefully toward him, something about the silhouette of her form against the framing black robe that sent a warm rush up Harry's cheeks. He'd never quite noticed her shape, but staring at her like a blind man seeing light for the first time, he realized just how beautiful she was. He'd adored her as a friend for years, and then somehow, without noticing, his feelings toward her had changed dramatically in timbre. He had recognized this change weeks, perhaps months before, but the change he had not noticed was that, as he grew taller and Ron grew lankier, Hermione had grown…exquisite.

"Be careful," Ginny whispered to him, jerking him out of his trance. "You're staring."

Her words drew his gaze back to her face, though he remained acutely aware of Hermione's movement in their direction. "I don't know what you mean," he answered quietly, though without much hope of convincing Ron's much more rational sister. "You pointed her out, didn't you? And I only looked to see what you meant." He was talking too much, his brain tried to make him shut up, but he couldn't. It was only Hermione's appearance at Ginny's shoulder that ended his humiliating babbles.

"I've been looking for you," she said sharply, with a hint of acid that threw Harry.

"Oh?" He knew it was stupid, but it was the quickest answer his brain could provide, already astounded as it was by his realization of Hermione's beauty and startled by her suddenly unpleasant demeanor.

"Yes. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

~%%~

**A/N**: Okay, bad, short, bad, awful, stingy, short, crappy chapter, I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for the bad ending and the long time waiting. More sorry, though, am I for taking a 300 level accounting class, economics class, public speaking class, and advertising class in the same semester. *shoots self in face*

I'm getting really sad of not writing, so I'm gonna try really hard to get some new stuff up in the next couple weeks! I keep getting Story Alert emails to my main email account, so I know there are still loyal fans reading, and thanks so much to all of you!

Along with OKFY, I'm also working on the first chapter of a new Draco-based fic currently entitled, "Brother to Dragons." I expect it to be quite a lot darker, but also steamier than OKFY currently is, but the stories will run parallel to one another, so you'll also be getting Malfoy's POV on the whole Harry/Hermione situation!

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** Okay, this is me trying really, really hard to update more frequently. The really pathetic part is, I've already written the last…oh, let's say FIVE chapters. So I know exactly how it's going to end. The place where I'm stuck is meeting in the middle to ensure that my ending dovetails with the lead-up.

I also want you guys to know that part of **why it takes me so long** to post a new chapter is how much time I put into these. The **Harry Potter Lexicon** is my #1 source for all things Harry Potter, and I try **really hard** to make sure that the world I'm telling you about is the same one Rowling created. So, when you're reading about them walking somewhere, please trust that that is exactly how they would get there! The one exception is hidden passages. I use those when I can't figure out where something is ^_^

**ADVERTISEMENT**: _**I am looking for a beta reader**_ to help me on this story. I have the last five or so chapters finished, so what I need is someone who can keep me in line with what is already written and posted, and still keeping the feel of what is yet to come. This would also need to be someone willing to help keep me on track and not forget to post chapters! I also need someone who is **very into canon** and can help me in catching any incontinuity. Any takers, please send me a PM, and I'll get back to you ASAP If you have a beta profile already, sending me a link to that would be just superb! Thanks!

~%%~

As he stood, Harry glanced down at Ginny with a questioning air. She shrugged in a carefully noncommittal way and went back to studying Defense Against the Dark Arts. Grabbing two slices of buttered toast, Harry trotted after Hermione's retreating figure, working hard not to stare too blatantly.

Hermione led him to the west side of the castle, just beneath the Owlery. He knew from hours spent up there with Hedwig that the view over the Forbidden Forest at sunset made the think woods look remarkably like the enchanted forest of so many Muggle fairy tales, but somehow from ground level, the forest appeared dangerous and foreboding today, even with a delicate dusting of snow painted across the canopy. Perhaps it was in the way that even the most daring rays of light could not penetrate the frozen tree tops, but no matter what it was, Harry shivered slightly.

Turning away from the forest, he faced Hermione, noting as he did so how lovely and pale she seemed against the background of blinding snow and her dark school robes. She, too, was looking out over the expanse of dark wood with a thoughtful expression.

"How far in do you suppose," she mused with an unusually playful look, "would we have to go for Filch to consider us actually being _in_ the Forbidden Forest?"

Unsure of where this was going, Harry chose the safest response he could and simply said, "Not very far, I'd imagine. He's quite strict."

"Come with me," she whispered conspiratorially, grabbing his hand and pulling him a few feet into the shadow of the forest. Only a few paces in, the trees seemed to loom as though they were lost in the heart of the wood. "What on Earth happened this morning?"

For a brief moment, Harry considered pretending that he did not know what she was talking about. But when he opened his mouth to speak, he found that he did not have the words to lie to her. Hermione had every right to know what had happened, and even though he knew it would hurt her to hear of Ron's outburst, she would find out eventually and be even more hurt that the information had not come from him. In as calm a voice as he could manage, he relayed the events of that morning, how Ron had stayed up waiting for Harry to return from the library, how upset he'd been, and how everything Harry had said just set him off again and again.

Hermione, as always, was an excellent listener. She didn't interrupt and absorbed the news with a thoughtful look, as she truly took in the information. She didn't quite know what to think of it. Her first reaction was that Ron was just being a prat, but there seemed to be something more. Was it possible that he did still fancy her? The way Harry described it made her think not, but how many other possibilities were there? Ron's anger and sense of abandonment made sense to a certain extent, but to hit his best friend seemed extreme, even for him.

When Harry had finished talking, he hung his head with such a defeated sigh that Hermione stepped toward him and touched the back of his neck lightly with her fingertips. He sighed again in a much more pleasant manner. He tipped his head to smile up at her and held out his hands to her. Hermione's heart fluttered as he softly kissed the knuckles of each hand and pulled her onto his knee.

After several moments of contented silence, Harry took and deep breath and whispered, "Do you think he's jealous?"

"Perhaps."

He pulled her in tighter for a moment and let go. He gently lifted her onto her feet and stood without looking at her. "We should be getting back. We'll be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"I suppose so."

~%%~

When they entered the classroom, Harry and Hermione made a silent decision to take their usual places in the classroom. Ron was already there in his usual place, and nodded quietly at Harry and Hermione as they entered. Harry was grateful to realize that, despite his anger at them, Ron was at least respecting their decision to keep quiet about their relationship. They took their seats quietly—Ron on Harry's left, Hermione on his right—and settled in as Professor Lupin began the day's lesson.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was uneventful that day, doing nothing to distract Harry from the nagging feeling at the back of his head, nor the throbbing in his eye. Professor Lupin had returned that year, and though many parents had objected to a werewolf teaching their children in light of the Dark Lord's return to power, the results of his excellent teaching and years of experience were irrefutable. Every student in the class had at least a fundamental understanding of defensive magic, even those who had not been in the D.A. the year before. Although there was no need for secretive meeting of Dumbledore's Army, students who had participated, as well as many who had only heard stories from friends, often approached Harry, Ron, and Hermione for advice when experiencing difficulty in the class. As a result, the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw sixth years were among the best in the school in their Defense Against the Dark Arts marks, while Malfoy and the other Slytherins still struggled with the more difficult magic.

As soon as everyone was settled, Lupin gave the call for wands away. Harry's hope for a distracting lesson, or, even better, one that would give him reason to be nearer Hermione, evaporated with most of the rest of his good mood. With a groan along with the rest of the class, he pulled out quill, ink, and parchment and began to take notes, focusing on Lupin's calm voice in an attempt to engross himself in the lecture.

Normally, Lupin's class was filled with incantations, the whooshing of spells, and the occasional crash as a hex veered off course. Today, however, he was lecturing the safe use of defensive and offensive magic in an enclosed space. Though he said that it was because of the increasingly dangerous spells they would be learning during the term, Harry strongly suspected that the events in Charms class the day before had urged Lupin's decision to change the lesson plan for the day.

Hermione worked very hard not to glance over at Harry during class. She caught herself several times staring at his quill hand as it worked across his parchment, taking notes in a more diligent manner than usual. She herself was having trouble concentrating, and for more than one reason. She was acutely aware of Harry's warmth beside her in a way she had never been before, and she was almost sure that he had moved his chair just a bit closer to hers when he sat done. With all the memories of the past days and hopes for more romantic moments that night filling her head, she found it difficult to ponder Ron's coping mechanisms too deeply.

Harry, however, could not let go of the potential of Ron's jealousy. His mind swarmed with opposing thoughts on the matter, while his hand mindlessly took notes, picking out phrases and words that Lupin summoned to the black board and blending them with his own dark thoughts.

_In close quarters, it is especially necessary to be aware of one's surroundings. Without proper division of workspace, crossfire can and will occur, sometimes with deadly consequences. In any situation where dangerous magic is practiced with multiple partners…_

_Jealous? My best mate, can't let him go over something like that. I'd do __anything__ for him. But it's __Hermione_(and this he underlined twice). _Brightest witch in our year, she's always been there for me. He has too, I suppose…_

_It is imperative, therefore, that each pupil practice their aim outside of class time with non-dangerous spells, to decrease the risk of off-angled spells that may veer far from their intended target. When this happens in practice, an unprepared student will be in far more danger than one expecting to be attacked. In a real-life experience of battle, this is even more important, as one's teammates, partner, or innocent bystanders can be caught in the crossfire of poorly aimed spells…_

_But couldn't he just let go? He told me he was over her, so why would I ever suspect it would hurt him? She's chosen me, and if he can't deal with that, we're all going to have a problem really quickly..._

_Auror training involves extensive target practice of a wide variety of spells, especially those intended for multiple targets. A truly skilled and masterfully practiced witch or wizard can will their spells to affect only those they wish to be affected, even when line of sight or concentration is broken by an incoming spell or attacker…_

_But that's not what she'd say, is it? She's too noble to let our feelings and what we want hurt our friends. Can I be that good? Don't I have to be, if I ever want to deserve her? Maybe we could just be a secret. But what if she wants him, as well? Can I be that good to both of them?_

…_not to be taken lightly. What must always be remembered is that healing spells will always require more skill, time, and personal risk on the part of the spell-caster than taking the time to safely learn to cast a safe and well-aimed spell._

_What if she wants him?_

This last line he underwrote three times, pressing his quill so violently to the parchment that the tip tore through the thick paper with a loud, wet sound. He saw several other students turn to look at him curiously, and as he hurriedly smoothed out the torn parchment, his elbow knocked his ink bottle all over the desk. He felt Hermione jump beside him, and flushed scarlet as rage, desperation, and embarrassment tore through him. The whole class turned to look at him, and even Lupin stopped talking momentarily.

"Is everything alright, Harry?" he asked curtly.

"Sorry, sir. Slipped," Harry mumbled, quickly mopping up the black ink with the corner of his robes and trying to stem the flow dripping steadily onto the floor. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Ron trying to read the notes on his parchment, and shifted his sleeve to cover it.

Lupin dismissed the class shortly thereafter, and as everyone packed their bags to move on to Transfiguration, he called for Harry to stay behind.

After bidding Hermione and Ron farewell, without looking to see if Ron responded, Harry glumly tromped to Professor Lupin's desk.

~%%~

Hermione walked the path to Transfiguration with Ron in utter silence. It was a long way from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, several floors up and on the opposite end of the castle. Students having the two classes consecutively had to hurry not to be late. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers usually didn't mind, but leg cramps and heavy book bags were no excuse to McGonagall.

They did not speak except to fellow students as they passed them in the corridors. They did not speak as they walked side-by-side up a wide, wooden staircase, as they had a hundred times before. They did not speak when Ron gestured that Hermione go first through a narrow doorway.

She could tell he was trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, and tried to mirror his behavior with grace. It proved difficult, though, when what she wanted to do was hit him roundly in the back of the head with her book bag. She was grateful, despite herself, that he seemed to ready to protect her in whatever way Harry had said was best. How mad could he really be, then, if he were taking Harry's concerns seriously?

She was able to answer that question without thought. Both she and Ron knew Harry well enough that even if they vowed never to speak to him again, if he said run, they would run. No one in their year—or any student in Hogwarts, really—had gone up against more dark magic and ruthless evil than Harry had. No one would question his judgment if he was worried someone dear to him was in danger.

Just before they reached the classroom, Hermione stopped and turned to Ron. "Er, look, Ron—" she began awkwardly, but he cut her off.

"Don't, Hermione. Just don't." He muttered quietly, uncharacteristically avoiding a row.

"But I—"

"I don't want to hear it. I'm pretending, can't that be enough?" He stepped forward to hold the classroom door for her. "After you."

"Thank you," she said quietly, passing his outstretched arm. She hoped that he understood how much he was thanking him.

They did not speak as they took their usual seats. Professor McGonagall strode into the classroom, slowing slightly as she passed Ron and Hermione on either side of Harry's empty seat.

"Where is Mr. Potter?" she asked them quietly.

"Professor Lupin asked him to stay behind," Hermione offered tentatively.

"Very well." McGonagall eyed the symbolically empty space between Ron and Hermione suspiciously, but took her place in front of the class without further comment.

Hermione thought Professor McGonagall's tacit acceptance of Harry's absence to be strongly out of character for the strict woman, but let it go with her excitement of the day's lesson. Transfiguration was not her favorite subject—that title went to Arithmancy—but Professor McGonagall was her favorite instructor.

She looked to her left and wished there was a spell that could transform the sullen boy and the empty space beside her into her two best friends, somehow happy and content. Knowing this was a problem that not even magic could fix, Hermione sighed and, pulling out her parchment, quill, and ink, turned her full attention to Professor McGonagall's lesson.

~%%~

**A/N**: Yay! I got some real writing done!

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 10** came from **gravacor** (again!), who said: "I can't wait till Hermione can say basically f-you as she snogs Harry in front of everyone." Me neither!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** I have good news, and I have bad news. The bad news is, my classes are now over for the semester, so I won't be getting to make myself daily delicious breakfasts of teriyaki salmon or chicken Kiev for the next few weeks. The good news, however, is that this means I'll be able to write and update more often. My goal is going to be **at least one new chapter per week**.

**Shameless self-plug:** I am putting the final edits on the first chapters of a new fic that will be a companion piece to One Kiss From You. For the wildly unobservant, that's what you're reading right now. Or at least, what you will be reading in about two lines. Please add an **Author Alert**, so you can be updated when that is posted! Enjoy!

~%%~

As Harry watched the last of the Gryffindors file out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, he realized that he'd never really had a disciplinary conversation with Lupin. He turned to his professor and friend, wondering which he would be today.

"Come with me, Harry," Lupin requested, lifting his own tattered bag and books and moving toward the door.

The halls were still as they took the familiar path to the Defense Against the Dark Arts' teacher's office. Without the usual murmur of conversation, their footsteps echoed through the long corridor in a way Harry associated with being out of bed after hours. He tried to think about anything that could keep his mind off of Ron and his potential jealousy. He watched the portraits as they passed. He recognized a few, but after his first few months at Hogwarts, the moving portraits had become just another part of the castle, and he'd never paid much attention.

When they reached Professor Lupin's office, Harry stood in silence as Lupin retrieved a black leather flask from the bottom drawer and took a long pull. He shuddered in disgust, then took several steadying breaths.

"How many days, sir?" Harry asked without thinking. He hoped he wasn't over-stepping bounds as a student, but Lupin's response reassured him.

"Reamus, please, Harry. In this room," he gestured to his small office, "we are friends."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied automatically. "Err…sorry. Reamus."

Lupin smiled in good humor. "And it is three days until the next full moon. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you."

Lupin gestured that Harry take the seat across from his desk, and they settled in. Harry wondered what was going on. He did not seem to be in trouble, but didn't understand why else he would be in Lupin's office.

"Now then," Lupin began, "why don't you tell me what's been going on with you and Ron this week?"

Harry stared at Lupin, unsure where or how to begin. "I'm…not sure what you mean," he mumbled evasively, not quite meeting his eye.

"We can start with the incident yesterday during Professor Flitwick's class," Lupin offered gently. "Or, perhaps with the black eye you're sporting today."

Harry gulped, knowing that there was no way he could escape this conversation. But still, he had to try. "Erm, Professor McGonagall will be expecting me in class, won't she? Perhaps now isn't the best time—"

"Of the school faculty, I am the most likely to be able to relate to your situation. We have been…keeping a close eye on you this year, my dear boy." He held up a hand at Harry's astonished expression. "Closer than usual, even. The past years have not been easy for you, and we recognize that a boy of your age may need someone to talk to. Someone—well, someone like a father. Obviously, the two most likely candidates for that role are—well. We don't need to discuss that right now.

"Not only am I the youngest of the faculty, but I also have more of a personal relationship with you. Nothing you tell me will get you in trouble, Harry, I promise you that. And missing class for something like this will not hurt you in any way this year. If ever you need me, I implore that you come talk to me."

"Er, well, thanks," Harry said in surprise. He'd had no idea that Dumbledore was having him watched so closely. After what he'd told Harry at the end of the previous school year, he wasn't too surprised that Dumbledore himself wasn't volunteering for this. It made a certain amount of sense, choosing Lupin. He had been Harry's father's friend in school, he was a member of the Order, and he was someone Dumbledore trusted. Harry contemplated telling Lupin everything. This was a man he could trust with his life. _Did _trust with his life, and that meant Hermione's as well, certainly? Yet, just that morning, Harry and Hermione had decided not to tell anyone, and he would feel as though he was betraying her trust if he didn't talk to her first. "I'm…not sure this is something I can talk about with you," he hedged. "I'll have to talk to—to the other person—people, people involved."

Lupin raised an eyebrow, but nodded in understanding.

"We've opted to keep it a, a sort of secret, you see," Harry continued, trying not to offend Lupin, but still tell him no. "And I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't talk he—to them before sharing it with someone else. I appreciate your concern, R—Reamus, really, but it's not just my story to tell, you see."

"I most certainly understand," Reamus replied with a proud smile. He rose from his seat, and Harry followed suit. Lupin walked around the desk to where Harry stood, clapping a hand firmly on his back. "You wouldn't be your father's son if you didn't put absolutely everyone before yourself. You wouldn't be you, Harry."

Harry felt himself growing pink at the blatant pride in Lupin's voice. It was so similar to the tone Sirius had regularly used in speaking to or about him that a lump formed in his throat at the very thought. He so often forgot that Reamus had also been close to his father and mother in their youth, had known them as they were falling in love. Perhaps that was why he said what he did next.

"Erm, there is one thing, though."

"Yes, Harry?"

"When you were all in school, and my mum and dad got together, er…did Sirius ever mind?"

"Ah."

Lupin's reply sounded a touch too knowing for Harry not to add, "Not that it's the same situation, at all, as a matter of fact. It's just…there's someone. A—a girl, and Ron's…well, not really pleased, you see."

"Yes, I do understand." Lupin perched on the corner of his desk for a moment, looking at Harry thoughtfully, as though he was deciding what to say next. "Well, the situation with your parents was…unique. I believe you are aware that your mother was not quite as—shall we say—impressed with James' antics as many of the other girls were?"

"She thought he was a git," Harry clarified, remembering all too well Snape's memories he had seen in the Pensieve the year before. "More than likely, because he was," he added darkly. It still disappointed him to know that his father had been that way.

Lupin sighed. "He did have the propensity for very git-like behavior, I will grant you. He took far too much pleasure in tormenting certain other members of the student body, especially the Slytherins. But your father was at heart a very true and loyal person. Being with Lily— Well, I personally believe that's what turned him into the very mature man he grew to be. No one is the same person in school that they are in life. We all grow out of some very silly habits, in time.

"But when James and Lily became a couple, the situation was a bit different. For one thing, it wasn't just Sirius and James. Peter and I were there, too, so even if Sirius did see James less often than he had before, well, he had us. I know it was difficult for him, though. It was around that time that Sirius left his mother's house and moved in with the Potters, so it really was like losing a brother to Sirius."

Harry was reminded forcefully of how many times Molly and Arthur Weasley had taken him graciously into their home and their family, never once asking for anything in return. He had to admit that the Weasleys were more of a family to him than he'd ever had, and he'd always thought of Ron as his brother, of Molly and Arthur as his surrogate parents. He wondered if Lupin knew the parallels he was drawing between his father's life and his own.

"But what really makes it different, I think," Lupin continued, eyeing Harry carefully, "is that Lily had never been a part of our group before. We were only losing James, not James and Lily. And after their honeymoon period was over, and they began to spend time with all of us again, it was more like we'd added a limb to our little family tree. For Ron, he's losing two of the people who have always been beside him, and what's worse, he may feel he's losing them to each other."

The exceptional description of the difference made Harry extremely uncomfortable. He fidgeted on the spot, playing with his shirt hem as he quickly said, "I never said anything about it being Hermione."

"Neither did I, Harry," Lupin said, grinning conspiratorially. "I had naturally assumed you to be talking about his younger sister, Ginny. She was in here earlier this week, asking me about a boy."

"Why did she come to you?" Harry asked, before realizing it was not his place. "Erm, I mean, why not to McGonagall or another girl?"

"Well, as I have with you, I have a very close relationship to the Weasley family, and Ginny was concerned about her parents' views on a certain young man she has been seeing. And given my," he hesitated, "circumstances, I think she hoped I would be less inclined to a judgment based on prejudice than her family would have been." The lightness in his voice made Harry very sure that Lupin had indeed been anything but judgmental in dealing with Ginny.

"Oh. Interesting."

"Indeed, it was," Lupin replied, nodding thoughtfully. "Though I can't say I'm at all surprised. Of all the Weasleys, and especially as the youngest, Ginny has always been far more rebellious than her brothers. If I recall correctly, in fact, I think she's taken after Bill Weasley more than any of the others. She was concerned at her family's feelings on her beau being of a different house." Lupin looked at Harry meaningfully, but Harry wasn't sure what the look was supposed to convey.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Harry leapt out of his seat, horrified to have completely missed Transfiguration. "Professor McGonagall!" he exclaimed, grabbing his backpack. "She'll kill me!"

"It's quite all right, Harry," Lupin said reassuringly, as the sound of footsteps filled the corridor outside. "I'll send her an owl explaining the situation, and I'm sure she'll let you make up any work that you missed."

_Sure she will,_ Harry thought sourly, _in detention_.

"If you say so," was all he said aloud. He hoisted his book bag across his shoulders and made to leave the room.

"Professor," Harry stopped at the door, suddenly realizing something. "if you knew Ginny's boyfriend is in a different house, than why—"

"Young love rarely encounters life's simplest obstacles. Luckily enough, there is always someone else to have a go with you. If your young lady does not object, my door is always open to you, Harry."

Harry knew, from the tone in his voice, that the question that had occurred to him would not be answered today.

"Erm, yes," Harry said, backing into the hallway. "Thank you, sir."

Lupin smiled warmly as he closed the door behind him. Harry realized that, whether or not he'd known before Harry had walked into his office, Lupin somehow knew about he and Hermione. He had to talk to Hermione, straight away. Luckily, they did not have afternoon classes that day, giving them the chance to begin their weekend a bit early. Harry thought of what his weekend could hold, now that Hermione was his. He knew, of course, that they couldn't be overt, but a few stolen kisses here and there would certainly make the weekend worth it. He grinned at the innocent fantasies now brewing in his mind as he made his way into the living sea of students making their way down to lunch.

When he entered the Great Hall, he saw Ron sitting by himself, across from Ginny. He sat down next to Ron hesitantly, and to his great surprise, Ron turned to him immediately.

"McGonagall wanted me to give this to you," he said gruffly, thrusting a slightly bent roll of parchment into his hand and turning quickly back to his kidney stew.

As Harry took the offered parchment, a seam opened along the length of it at his touch. He rolled it open gingerly, immediately recognizing Professor McGonagall's own handwriting.

_Mr. Potter,_

_Please come to my office at your nearest convenience._

_I believe you have the afternoon off from classes._

_M. McGonagall_

Though he had known this would happen, Harry stifled a groan as he read the curt message. He could almost hear Professor McGonagall's pinched tone rising from the notice. At least, he supposed, if he had an afternoon detention, he wouldn't have to cancel the first Quidditch practice of the year that evening. With his sense of apprehension for the evening growing, Harry realized that he would have to be playing the role of Quidditch Captain for the first time in practice tonight. With Ron in the mood he was already in, Harry was concerned that he would try to undermine his leadership during practice, not the sort of thing that would hold the team together at the beginning of the school year.

Harry sighed, filling his plate with rice and a generous helping of kidney stew. He sipped his pumpkin juice leisurely, not wanting to finish eating before Hermione arrived from wherever she was. He sent a sidelong glance at Ron. He had been keeping his temper well throughout the day. Harry began to feel a bit of hope that Ron's reaction earlier in the morning had been an extreme, even for Ron.

"Hey, Ron, where i—"

"McGonagall."

"Oh."

Harry returned his full attention to his plate, his momentary spark of hope having been put out by Ron's short response. Without much else to look at or anyone to speak to, the other Gryffindors being farther down the table, Harry looked up at Ginny to start conversation. Ginny, however, did not appear to be looking into the immediate space, but was rather staring vaguely across the neighboring tables at nothing in particular.

~%%~

Professor McGonagall dismissed her Transfiguration class seconds before the bell rang, but as Hermione and Ron got up to leave, she held up a hand to them, indicating that they should wait. As they approached, she was signing her name to a short note, which she rolled before either had a chance to read it and sealed it with the same charm Umbridge had been so fond of the year before. Rather than flying off to its recipient, however, McGonagall handed the rolled parchment to Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, would you be so kind as to give this to Mr. Potter?" she asked as she held the message out to him.

Ron, who had been caught off guard by being given a reason to speak to Harry, couldn't think of an immediate response. He stared at her blankly, his mouth openly and closing repeatedly until she finally noticed something was off.

"I trust you do know who Mr. Potter is?" she snapped, her lips growing thin. "Or do I need to send someone else with his detention notice?"

Ron blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair, and fumbled to offer his hand before Professor McGonagall could say anything else scathing. He took the note and shoved it into the side pocket of his bookbag, mumbling an apology.

"You may go, Mr. Weasley," she snapped. "Miss Granger, if you will stay for just a moment longer?" Hermione nodded mutely, wondering what else she could possibly have to say.

Ron looked at Hermione awkwardly, then said bracingly, "I'll, erm, wait for you then, shall I?"

"That's—that's alright," she responded, hoping to avoid an afternoon of his sulking. "I'll see you at lunch." She watched Ron leave the room without looking back, and looked back to Professor McGonagall with a small sigh.

"Miss Granger," the older woman began in a tone much softer than her usual curt manner, "I'll make this quick." Hermione nodded again. "I know that a professor is hardly the person a young lady would like to speak to about such things, but—that is—if you ever need someone to talk to about this situation with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, I hope you know that my door is always open to you."

The sentimentality apparent in her most adored instructor's voice set Hermione's heart on edge, and she nearly burst into tears on the spot. She had seen Harry and Ron fight over the years, but she herself had always been someone they would both talk to, not the catalyst for the whole mess. What she wouldn't give for someone as understanding as McGonagall to help her through the ordeal, but she had promised Harry that they would keep their relationship private, and if she couldn't keep her word to Harry, then she didn't deserve him.

"Thank you," she replied, fighting back the choking sob that threatened to erupt out of her chest. "Thank you, Professor, but I think this might just be something I have to take care of by myself." She sniffed delicately, her breathing shaky.

"But you don't, my dear," she said quietly, smiling slyly at Hermione in a very girly and _very_ un-McGonagall-like way. "Isn't that the whole point? Perhaps you feel you can't confide in anyone else, but you most certainly won't be by yourself in this matter.

"I've taught all of the Weasleys, and each was as hot-tempered as the next. If anything, they get more voracious as they've come along. I'm sure the youngest Mr. Weasley will come around in due time, and you'll all be just fine. Perhaps even better than before. Dumbledore's been saying it for years, that there's nothing quite like love to bind people closer together."

Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall, her eyes wide as she realized the implied knowledge behind her words. "But how—"

"I was young once too, you know," she replied, smiling softly. "A long, long time ago, it's true, but there are some things that just never change in the life of a young witch. Now, go on to lunch, before they're missing you."

Hermione stopped at the door and turned to say quietly, "Thank you, Professor. Even though I can't—I mean, even though we're not supposed to tell people about it, you've no idea how much it helps to just know that—that you can—" She broke off as tears brimmed in her eyes. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

"You're very welcome, Miss Granger."

~%%~

**A/N**: Tune in next time for a weekend full of sneaky fluff! Also, for those of you who have added a Story Alert, you may also want to add an **Author Alert**. I am doing final edits on the **first chapters of a companion piece to One Kiss From You. It is entitled Brother to Dragons.** As I hinted before, it will be the same story, told from the other side of the coin. While the romance and plot can be a stand-alone, there will be many references from OKFY that will make much more sense if you read them both together. If anyone can send me a **private message** (so as not to ruin it for others) with who you think the story will be about, you will get a **sneak-peek of the first chapter**!

I usually do a favorite review mini-award here, but sadly, **Chapter 11 received no reviews**. This makes me a sad coconut, and sad coconuts, as we all know, don't write as prolifically as happy, ego-bolstered coconuts :(

So, in a blatant **attempt at bribery**, all **signed** reviews (reviews **I can respond to** with a PM) will get a sneak-peek at the fun fluffy goodness coming in Chapter 13! That means **a preview of the next chapter will go to ALL SIGNED REVIEWS for this chapter.**

Again, don't forget to add an **Author Alert**, as I will be posting a new story, based around the elements of One Kiss From You, from another, blonder perspective ^_^

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** By the way, for purposes of this story, assume that the **Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts proceeded as per canon**, on the second Saturday of the term. The Quidditch practice referred to in this chapter, therefore, includes all of the characters and characteristics assigned to the '95-'96 Gryffindor Quidditch team by JKR.

~%%~

Hermione left Professor McGonagall's office deep in thought. The quiet of the deserted stone corridors was a relief. It allowed her to sort through the wild thoughts in her head, and compose herself to see Harry again. It would hardly help the situation for her to leap into his arms in the middle of the Great Hall, but she could at least see him smiling at her, which would most certainly improve her day.

When she entered the Great Hall, Hermione's eyes automatically sought Harry and Ron as they always had. This time, however, there was a different weight to the emotion she felt when she found them—sitting together, if a bit stiffly—and it took her by surprise. She was glad to have someone to sit with, as usual, and relieved that they weren't deep in some conversation with the other Gryffindor boys that would leave her out of the loop, like when they talked about Quidditch endlessly. But there was a significant change in the timbre of her relief at finding them. Perhaps it was glee that she had not invented Harry in her lonely mind, or that seeing him physically taking part in their daily lives affirmed what was happening between them was real, even if all the others saw was friendship. She found an unfamiliar lightness in her step as soon as she could positively identify where Harry was. It was as though the connection that had loosely bound them throughout the day had suddenly pulled taut, and she now had no choice but to be nearer to him.

Taking care not to skip to the Gryffindor table, Hermione approached them, and, placing her book bag in the small space between them, claimed her seat. Both boys looked up in slight surprise, but moved to make room for her between them. She was glad they were sitting together, but suspected that it was just an act. They would have said something to stop her otherwise, she reasoned, and confirmed her belief as they shot her small, yet grateful smiles. Other than a quick smile in response to each of them, she didn't intend to spend time talking to either of them. In Ron's case, it was because he had asked her not to mention anything about his fight with Harry, and that was really all she wanted to ask him. As for not speaking to Harry, she was concerned that she would not be able to keep the joy she felt would surely burst out of her chest from showing on her face. Beaming at him without cease would likely cause suspicion from on-lookers. Instead, she focused her attention on something else.

"Hello, Ginny," she exclaimed brightly.

Ginny, who had been staring off into the distance with a dazed expression, started at the sound of her name.

"Oh, hello," she replied vaguely. "Had a good day so far?"

"Well enough," Hermione agreed amiably, sliding into the space the boys had had no choice but to make for her. There were regularly full tables during weekday lunches, with no late sleepers or evening detentions to detract from the number of dining students, so the place they had made was fairly tight. This was alright with both Harry and Hermione, as it allowed for them to touch from knee to hip without questionable motives. "We have the afternoon off today. I suppose we'll work on some homework and such."

"We have Quidditch practice tonight," Ron replied flatly, without looking up at any of them.

Hermione turned to Harry with a slightly crestfallen face. "Sorry," he mouthed. Out loud, he said, "Yes, the first of the season. I expect we'll only get a couple of hours in. We've got a whole new team this year, after all, so we'll have to get used to each others' playing styles." He turned to Ginny to add, "I want to spend some time with just the Chasers during practice and find out what their strategy is, so you can all work together as a single, cohesive unit. I've never played the position, so I'd like you to head that up. Is that alright?"

"Of course," Ginny replied, now fully involved in the conversation. "How will you handle the Beaters, then? We haven't got Fred and George anymore. They won't know what they're doing."

"That's true," Harry mused, now fully in team captain mode. "I don't know what they expect me to do without my full Weasley team," he joked, glancing briefly at Ron, who smiled before scowling very deeply, as if to make up for his slip.

Ginny noticed the tension between Ron and Harry, and added, "Ron used to play Beater sometimes when we were younger. Before Fred and George started here, they wanted to be Chasers."

"You were the Beater more often than I was," Ron muttered, blushing.

"Yes, but if I'm working with the other Chasers, and there's no one to do drills with you, you can be working with the Beaters." She stopped suddenly and looked at Harry, blushing too. "Sorry, I don't mean to take your job."

Harry chuckled. "It's quite alright. I don't know what I'm doing, remember? I appreciate all the help I can get." He shot a look at Ron to see if he understood the significance of his words, but Ron was still pointedly ignoring him. "So," he said, turning back to Ginny, "tell me everything I need to know about chasing."

Hermione was slightly disappointed that the subject had once again turned to Quidditch, so she took a small bowl of a dark brown onion soup and began nibbling at it with some crusty bread. As the conversation continued, however, she began paying more attention than usual to what was being said, owing in large part to how soothing she suddenly found Harry's voice as he responded in genuine interest to Ginny's explanation of the finer points of chasing. She had never realized before how many academic theories like probability and geometry went into playing the wizarding sport. It turned out that there were several common positions for the Chasers to fly in, and all of them had their own advantages and disadvantages.

Hermione had grown up seeing football all around the country, but Quidditch was even more difficult to master, as there was the vertical element that could not exist in earth-bound Muggle sports. The more she listened, the more she remembered seeing some of the positions that Ginny was explaining Harry, and recognized how some were more appropriate in certain situations. Most of them focused on two Chasers defending the one with the Quaffle, but there were many other strategic reasons for the way they flew. Ron even jumped in on the conversation, though Hermione noticed he was careful not to speak directly to Harry, making all of his comments to Ginny instead, though the information he offered was all relevant to Harry's plan for the team.

Harry seemed to notice this too, livening up his conversation, though also pointedly not saying anything that would force Ron to respond to him specifically. She was glad to see that the two of them were finding common ground and getting along, even if in an indirect way. It showed promise that perhaps they could once again all be the friends they had been. Glancing over at Harry, Hermione smiled to herself lightly. _Perhaps not quite the same, after all,_ she thought to herself. She still could not escape the sensation that she just wasn't close enough to Harry to be satisfied, and the itch to touch him was maddening.

Ron and Ginny began arguing casually about the defensive significance of synchronized Chasers versus a well-practiced Keeper, but Harry stopped listening, because he was suddenly distracted by a tickling warmth on the inside of his wrist. He didn't have to look down to find out what it was, because he could see Hermione's golden-brown hair in his peripheral vision as she bent over her book bag to hide the fact that her fingertips were tracing small circles on the sensitive skin of his forearm. His eyes closed involuntarily for a moment before remembering his surroundings. He briefly covered her thin fingers with his own, running his thumb gently up the side of her index finger. She shuddered delicately at the electric charge that seemed to dart through them. Smiling to himself, he dropped his hand beneath the table to meet Hermione's.

In that moment, neither wanted anything more than to be able to hold hands and eat lunch with their friends in the middle of the crowded Great Hall, without caring who might see. This not being an option, they contented themselves to brush the backs of their hands against one another. Harry was in awe at the softness of Hermione's skin, and wondered briefly if his own chapped knuckles were hurting her. Thinking of this, he flexed his fingers unconsciously to test the state of his skin, finding Hermione's fingers in the process. She seemed to take this as an invitation—which was just fine with Harry—and entwined her fingers around the first knuckles of his hand, not daring for a more intimate touch than that.

Hermione was too keyed up from the drama of the morning hours to eat much, so she ate mostly the bread and the rich broth from her soup, occasionally sipping pumpkin juice. She also limited how much she ate to avoid drawing attention to the fact that she was using her left hand while she gently held her fingers between Harry's. She noticed him shifting his weight to conceal their hands and relaxed into the feeling. It was perhaps an awkward sort of grip, but it was certainly better than nothing, she thought. She felt Harry's thumb again sweeping over what little skin he could access, and could not think of a more effective way to warm up from the winter chill already creeping through the castle. She sighed contentedly into her soup bowl, pretending to be enjoying the satisfying nature of hot soup on a winter's day, hoping he would know better.

Harry did know better, and in an effort not to show his leaping heart to those around him, he tuned back into the conversation in time to catch Ron and Ginny turning to him expectantly, as though waiting for his decision to settle the matter they had been discussing. The only trouble was, Harry had not been paying attention for several minutes as he'd been distracting himself with Hermione's gentle hands.

"Erm, sorry, what?" he asked stupidly.

"We were wondering if you wanted us to all split up tonight. I can work with the Chasers, Ron can make sure the Beaters aren't hurting themselves, and you can supervise everything," Ginny repeated good-naturedly. "Since it's the first practice and all. You already know how well Ron plays, so not drilling the Keeper probably wouldn't be the end of the world, and it'll let you see how the rest of the team works together."

"And _I_ was wondering," Ron cut in, shooting a dirty look at his little sister, "if you wanted to work with the Beaters, so I can practice with the new Chasers, since I don't know their styles yet."

This put Harry in an uncomfortable spot. On the one hand, he wanted to keep Ron from being more angry at him than necessary—which, he thought bitterly, was obviously not at all—but on the other hand, he agreed more with Ginny's strategy for practice, given that working the grouped positions together would be of more benefit to the team as a whole in the long run. He found himself mourning the fact that she would only be able to be the Gryffindor team's captain in her seventh year. She seemed to know much better than he what should be done. As the Seeker, Harry had rarely been a part of team drills, spending more time instead high above the action, looking for the Snitch, even during skirmish matches.

"Actually," he countered democratically, "I was thinking we'd start off with some ground drills, and then see where we can go from there."

"Ground drills? What, like running and push-ups?" Ron protested loudly. "What's the point of that, first night on the field?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort hotly, but was interrupted, surprisingly, by Hermione.

"Oh, honestly, Ron, it's not as though riding a broomstick isn't hard work. You do have to be in shape you know," she burst, parroting Harry's words from the night before.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry all looked at her in shock, having never heard her participate in a conversation about Quidditch before. Harry squeezed her fingers between his for just a moment to show that he understood what she was doing, and was grateful for it. She blushed faintly before adding to the others, "Don't look at me like that. I am aware of the things going on around me, even when they don't particularly interest me. Any athlete needs discipline. And Ron," she added, trying to remove the dark look of betrayal from his face, "I've seen some of the things you do, when you stretch nearly off your broom to save a Quaffle. That takes physical discipline. Why would you practice as a half-strength team, if you want to end up as a team at full strength? I think Harry's right to have you do ground drills for practices." As soon as the last words were out of her mouth, Hermione regretted having added them.

"Of course you do," Ron muttered, his momentary cheer at her praise long gone. He pushed his plate away violently, and grabbed his bag to storm out of the Great Hall.

Hermione watched him go in shock and embarrassment. She turned to Harry and Ginny, stammering, "I—I—I didn't mean to make him mad, I was just—"

"We know," Ginny said, watching her brother go. "He's just a jealous idiot."

Harry and Hermione looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?" Harry asked her slowly.

"Isn't it obvious? You two haven't been exactly hiding it," Ginny replied casually without looking at either of them. They didn't look at one another, but Hermione could feel the shake in his fingers as he waited for Ginny to tell them that she knew. "I mean, we've all been playing Quidditch for as long as we could ride a broom, and I think he thinks that—well, that _he_ should have been made Captain, instead of you, Harry." She sighed heavily, looking again at his retreating back. "I'm sorry my brother's such an idiot. He shouldn't have hit you this morning, either. I just don't understand why you're trying so hard to pretend you're not fighting."

He gingerly touched the mark on his face, following Ginny's gaze to the doors of the Great Hall, but Ron was already gone. Hermione moved away from him, too, which hurt until he realized that without Ron there, there was no reason for them to sit so close. He missed the touch the instant it was gone, but knew they shouldn't risk it for something so small, no matter how satisfying it had been to be in contact with her.

"Harry, is this yours?" Hermione asked him suddenly. He turned to see her holding the rolled parchment Ron had given him. "I must have knocked it off the table when I sat down."

"Thanks," he replied, taking the parchment and looking at it sourly before thrusting it into his bag. That was the last thing he had wanted to remember. "Was she angry?" he asked her.

"Not really," she said thoughtfully. "She actually didn't seem very surprised. I suppose she'll give you a detention, nonetheless. Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Will you have to cancel Quidditch practice tonight?"

"I hope not, but I don't know that I can really avoid it if she gives me detention. It's not like I can ask her to switch it to a more convenient time." He stretched back on the wooden bench, looking absentmindedly around the Great Hall. His eyes fell on Malfoy and his cronies at the Slytherin table. Malfoy sat facing the Gryffindor table, and noticed Harry eyeing him almost immediately. He sneered openly at Harry, his gaze flashing to Hermione, and then Ginny sitting near him, and Harry felt a blazing need to protect the pair of them from Malfoy's dark leanings. He knew that people like Malfoy were the very tip of the iceberg of threats to his friends and family, but hadn't felt it quite so keenly before Malfoy's father had openly regained his status in Lord Voldemort's inner circle of Death Eaters. He'd always been an annoying little git, but he'd never seemed to pose any real threat to anyone. Before he could say anything or respond to Malfoy's ugly look, Malfoy stood up and left the hall, leaving his followers behind.

Ginny excused herself to finish studying for an exam and left quickly. The Great Hall was beginning to empty as students moved on to their afternoon classes, but Harry wasn't ready to leave for McGonagall's office just yet. Not when he could spend a few more minutes talking to Hermione.

"What did Professor Lupin want?" she asked, eating with her right hand again.

"Um, he—" But he was interrupted by a singularly feminine hand landing on his shoulder.

"Quidditch practice tonight, Harry?" He followed the hand up the arm leading to the face of Demelza Robins, one of his new Chasers.

"Yes, at six-thirty," Harry replied, still surprised by the suddenness of the interruption.

"Excellent," she said, winking brightly. She turned to Hermione, her face rather harder than necessary. "Nice to see you…Gangrene, isn't it?"

"Granger," Harry replied through gritted teeth. He had heard Demelza and Romilda Vane talking about him a few days previously, and understood that Demelza shared in Romilda's crush on him. "Hermione Granger."

Hermione felt her spirits lift as he jumped to her defense, but noticed his dark mood nonetheless. "As founded as your worries are outside of Hogwarts, I rather think I'm more in danger here than anywhere else," she whispered once the other girl had walked away.

Harry grinned without looking at her, so that onlookers might think he had just thought of something funny. He was trying very hard to manage his need to be near Hermione, and thought that he was actually doing quite well for as much as he wanted to take her by the hand and run to the nearest broom cupboard.

"So what did Lupin want?"

"Oh, he just wanted to let me know that—" Harry paused to clear his throat uncomfortably. "To let me know that I can talk to him about anything I needed to. He seemed to be awfully aware of—well, of things that have been going on. And I talked to him for a while about Sirius and my dad."

"James and Sirius?" she repeated. "What about them?"

Harry blushed deeply and fidgeted in his seat, checking for anyone around them before answering, but they were mostly alone at their section of the Gryffindor table. "About—I mean, if Sirius had ever—not that it was really the same at all, it turned out, but—"

"But what, Harry?"

"If Sirius ever got mad when my mum and dad got together at school," he finally muttered, still not looking at her. Not until he heard an indelicately hidden giggle, that was. "What are you laughing at?"

Hermione tried to cover her smile, but there was nothing for it. "Professor McGonagall kept me behind to tell me the same thing. Maybe we haven't been so subtle to the professors' eyes?"

"Well, they've had a few generations of student to watch and learn the signs, I suppose," Harry responded, chuckling. "Anyway, I should get up to McGonagall's office to schedule the detention for tonight."

"Would you like me to walk with you?" she offered casually.

Harry glanced around the nearly empty hall. "For a while. As far as the path goes to Gryffindor Tower, okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Okay."

They stood up from the table, bumping elbows in the process. Neither commented on it, but the same electric tingle seemed to race through them. As they moved out of the Great Hall, they didn't say anything, but strolled along in companionable silence. Harry appreciated that, unlike other girls he knew, Hermione didn't always feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless words.

On the third floor, they took a shortcut down a completely deserted corridor. Every classroom door was closed, except for one, halfway down the hall, that was cracked open to reveal a darkened room. Harry pondered this room as they approached it, twisting his head this way and that to see if anyone was coming down the corridor from either direction.

"Harry, what on earth are—"

"Shh," Harry whispered, placing a hand on her waist and steering her to the far side of the hall, where the open door beckoned. He stopped them for a moment outside the door, listening for sounds both from the room beyond and the corridor behind them. When he was satisfied that no one was going to stumble upon them, Harry splayed his fingers against the door and pushed it open gently.

As the door opened with a faint creak, Hermione realized his intent and giggled mischievously. She allowed him to guide her into the room with a hand on the small of her back. They glanced back quickly into the hallway once more before closing the door quietly behind them.

"_Lumos_." The light of Harry's wand showed them that they were in a standard classroom, with four rows of five desks each lined up before them and an instructor's desk at the opposite end. He began moving up the rows toward the large desk and crooked a finger at her to join him.

"You should be practicing your nonverbal spells," Hermione scolded automatically, moving toward him.

He looked across the room at her incredulously, raised an eyebrow, and his wand went out at once. Hermione found herself blind in the utter darkness, her eyes not used to night vision like Harry's were. She felt her way gingerly to the desk, but by the time she'd gotten there, he had moved. "Harry?" she whispered. "Harry, where are you?"

She heard a dark chuckle from her right. Hermione gasped and turned to face him just as he pulled her into his arms, his strong hands finding her face easily in the dark and drawing her up into his embrace. Harry was much more comfortable in the dark than Hermione was. He supposed part of it came from his many night prowlings in the castle, and perhaps a bit just because he was a bloke and was supposed to be comfortable with that sort of thing. Whatever it was, he felt braver here in the nondescript room than he had in the library or the common room the night before. They were places he knew, places that had been used for certain functions in his life over the years, and snogging was generally not one of them.

As a result, his embrace was tighter than ever, and Hermione could feel a tinge of desperation to it, as though he wanted to put as much fervor into his kisses as possible, to tide them both over until the next time they would be able to sneak away. He was unafraid to explore her mouth with his tongue, and kept his broad hands at her neck and waist, holding her entire body as close to his as possible, and she felt deep in her stomach the first flutterings of true desire. She gasped at the realization, drawing his dark, spicy flavor into her lungs, which only served to torment her more. She pulled away, breathing too heavily for comfort.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked in concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it's—it's nothing like that," she whispered breathlessly. "I only—I mean it's just that I—oh, Harry."

She had no words to tell him what he was doing to her, and instead wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face back down to meet hers. Her fingers played in his hair, and she tugged lightly on the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, eliciting a gentle sigh and a shudder that moved through his whole body. Knowing that she could affect him this way, knowing that he wanted her, at least a little, did things to Hermione that she knew in her heart could never be undone. For the first time in her life, she wanted someone in the simplest, most basic way, as a woman wants a man.

This sudden realization nearly sent her to her knees in shock. She kept one hand on the back of his neck to steady herself, and dragged the other across the well-worn fabric of his dress shirt. Her fingers touched the rougher fabric of his Gryffindor-striped tie at the same time that he moved both his hands to cup her face. The intimacy of that single caress, the adoration he showed her in that moment sent shudders through her, and she gripped his tie as hard as she could to keep from collapsing. He seemed to understand her trouble standing and turned to lift her gently onto the desk.

When they finally had to pull away to breathe, Hermione fell back on her hands, leaning on the desk for support. Harry leaned down over her, resting his forehead against the smooth indent above her collarbone. Their breathing matched pace as it slowed considerably, though the charged atmosphere did not dissipate. Harry still stood between her knees, and one of her ankles had taken it upon itself to hook around the back of his leg.

He gazed down at her, and was sure that the dreamy expression on her face was mirrored on his own. He smiled and nudged her cheekbone with the tip of his nose. She tilted her head to the side in response, and he placed a row of delicate kisses along her jaw. She shivered again, the skin of her neck and throat tingling madly, as though asking to be given attention as well. It seemed that every nerve in her body was alight and waiting for his next touch, however insignificant it may be. She was glad for the darkness of the room as she blushed from the wild images she was seeing in her fevered mind. As his lips made contact with the curve of her neck for the first time, she gasped, once again twisting her hand into his dark locks, holding his face to her skin. Her other hand found purchase against the muscled edge of his shoulder and proceeded to roam his upper body wherever she could reach.

The sounds of breathing and wet kisses filled the air for several minutes, punctuated by gasps and sighs, and names whispered in the dark. Harry couldn't believe the things that were happening here, in this anonymous classroom with Hermione. To know that she wanted to be his girlfriend had been dream enough, but now she was in his arms, clinging to him as though she would never let him go. He wondered briefly—as any teenage boy is likely to do in such circumstances—if she would allow him to try to go further. He quickly pushed the idea from his mind, trusting that Hermione would be upset if he brought up something like that so soon, and besides, even if she said yes, he'd have no idea what to do. It was far too enjoyable to just be standing here snogging and holding one another to risk ruining it for something so one-dimensional.

For a few precious minutes, both forgot about the dangers lurking outside the room. Harry was not concerned for her safety, though he did worry that she might be uncomfortable, and she didn't bother herself with the details of pretending not to be involved in front of the other students, or what she could do to help Harry and Ron patch things up. Neither thought about Ron at all, as a matter of fact, or Lord Voldemort, his Death Eaters, Dumbledore's frequent absences from the castle, or even their constantly growing loads of nearly impossible homework. For a short while, they were able to just _be_.

Then, without warning, Harry pulled away, covering Hermione's mouth with his hand and shushing her insistently. She had to consciously bring herself back to rational thinking. The first thing she noticed was that her skirt had hiked up nearly to the tops of her thighs during their embrace, and she jumped off the desk, hurrying to straighten it, because the second thing she noticed was that there was a voice coming down the corridor outside, and a pair of hurried footsteps growing louder with each passing second.

"I'm telling you, love, there's never a class in here."

"Get behind me," Harry hissed, and Hermione was just short enough that she could bend her face against the curve of his spine and be hidden. He had just composed himself enough to pull out his wand when the door opened and light flooded the room. Compared to the previous darkness, the dim torchlight in the passage outside was blinding, and Hermione could feel Harry wince.

"Didn't know this room was tak—Potter?" Hermione could recognize the lazy drawling voice, even if she couldn't see its rat-faced owner.

"Malfoy," Harry replied coolly.

"Who've you got back there?" he asked in mocking amusement. "The Mudblood, no doubt?"

"Oh, just one of your old girlfriends," Harry shot back. "She got tired of the same old thing, you see. Just didn't want to hurt your feelings." He shrugged casually. "You know how they are."

"Typical," Malfoy shot back. "Everyone's hero, taking sloppy seconds in a dark classroom."

His eyes had adjusted to the light enough for Harry to notice that Draco was holding someone's hand. She had a pale arm, with slender fingers, but that was all Harry could see, as she was standing beyond the width of the door.

"Too embarrassed to be seen with a ferret like him?" Harry called out, knowing she would be able to hear him. "I don't blame you."

Harry had crossed the line, and he knew it, but Malfoy was already being pulled away by the silent owner of the pale hand. Perhaps she really was embarrassed to be caught trying to do exactly what he'd just been caught doing, and even though whoever it was had chosen to associate herself with Malfoy, he felt a bit bad for saying something to her without even knowing who she was.

Malfoy closed the door with a sharp bang and a last scathing look. The room fell back into darkness.

Harry breathed out, long and slow, before turning back to Hermione. "That was close," he muttered, angry at himself for having taken such a chance by bringing them into the room in the first place.

But Hermione was having none of his guilt. She sought him out in the dark, trying to pull him back into her arms for more.

"Insatiable, are you?" he whispered teasingly.

"Perhaps."

"I like that."

"Me too."

"We should go, before someone else catches us for real," he whispered regretfully.

She whined at this, and it was too adorable for him not to give in to what she wanted. He leaned down to kiss her gently. He tried to keep it chaste this time, but the passion was still there, bubbling palpably beneath the surface. He held her chin as they kissed, his other hand smoothing her hair gently. Their encounter had lasted only a few minutes, but it had changed something about the way they saw one another. No longer just schoolmates or fellow Gryffindors, they had formed something together, that could not be complete without its other half.

They pulled apart, stroking each other's faces in awe of what had happened. "We should leave separately," Harry whispered, resting his forehead against hers, "so no one suspects we were here together."

"Alright," Hermione agreed, though separating for any reason was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry left first, lighting his wand to show the path to the door, and pausing for any signs of movement outside before he opened it. He turned back to her. "When I leave," he instructed, "count to at least one hundred, then go, okay?" Hermione nodded, already looking desolate without him beside her. Harry's pride swelled to massive heights seeing how badly she wanted him, and knowing that she was his. "And if anyone stops you…?" he prompted.

"I'll tell them I was practicing nonverbal spells in here. I know, I know," she said, grinning at him. "Just go. I'll see you at dinner?"

"Sooner, I hope."

Hermione hopped back onto the desk, counting slowly. She rubbed her arms, trying to regain some of the heat she had lost when Harry moved away. Her mind was flying, now that she had full control of her senses again. The way she had reacted to his touch had thrown her completely off-balance. She idly lit and doused her wand without speaking a word, wandering if it had been a hundred counts yet. Sighing, she leaned onto her hands again, letting the light from her wand throw a distorted shadow against the far wall.

The frantic desire still coursing through her body was too much, too real, too unfamiliar for her to know how to cope with. Half-formed fantasies fluttered behind her eyelids as she unthinkingly brought her knees together, rubbing her thighs up and down. There was some small piece of her that knew this could bring her a measure of relief, though she didn't know quite what that would mean. Hermione was not a stupid girl; she knew what she wanted and what she was seeking to fulfill that aching need. She had not, however, known what it was to feel this way, and hadn't been prepared for the all-consuming heat that came with what they had just shared. She wondered why Harry had seemed so unaffected by their encounter, worried it had been something she had done wrong.

With a frustrated groan, Hermione strode decidedly to the door and slipped into the hall beyond. If she was going to be miserable without Harry, she could just as well do it in the comfort of her own house common room.

~%%~

Harry pressed himself flat against the wall to the side of the door as he cracked it slightly. He could see no one coming down the immediate portion of the hall in the direction from which they had come, but had to rely on his hearing to tell him that the corridor was empty the other way. He glanced back at Hermione, smiling briefly before silently putting out his wand. He snapped around the corner and took off down the hallway as though he had not just come out of a supposedly empty classroom. Harry had seen the look of malcontent on Hermione's face, and wished he could do something about it, but it had been too risky for them to stay in that room any longer. Knowing Malfoy, he would have tipped off Filch as soon as he left, especially after Harry had baited him so.

As soon as Harry had rounded the corner out of the corridor, he rushed the rest of the path to make it to Professor McGonagall's office as quickly as he could, not wanting to push his luck by making her wait for him to arrive twice in one day. He arrived minutes after leaving Hermione, out of breath, to find her sitting behind her desk as always.

"Potter," she began brusquely as he approached, and Harry braced for the lecture. "You certainly took your time getting here." Harry muttered an apology. "Now, as your Transfiguration teacher, I am obligated to give you detention for missing my class this morning. It was rude and completely unacceptable."

So he _was_ going to have to cancel Quidditch practice, then. Even the Gryffindor Head of House would not let Quidditch practices keep her from giving the team captain detention. Harry hung his head, ready to hear his punishment.

"However," she continued in a tone that made him look up in hope, "as your Head of House, I feel further obligated to instruct my house's Quidditch Captain that certain expectations have been laid out by you and your teammates over the past five years. I hope that allowing you to write lines on your own time will both teach you your lesson and give you ample time to whip your new team into shape?"

Harry was stunned. Not only had Professor McGonagall never assigned him lines—at Hogwarts, as he had learned early on, there were far more effective punishments to deter rule-breaking than a sore quill hand—but she had never let someone off so easily for skiving off her classes.

"Well?" she prompted curtly. "Is that acceptable, or shall I schedule a more traditional detention this evening to—"

"No, no!" he protested hurriedly. "I mean, uh—thank you, Professor. That will certainly help out the team a lot. If we cancelled tonight's practice, I don't know when we'd meet before we play Ravenclaw next weekend." That wasn't strictly true, as they had practices scheduled that weekend and throughout the week, but he wanted to make sure McGonagall understood how much she was helping the team, not just him personally.

"Now," McGonagall said, pulling a scrap of parchment from a drawer and scribbling on it quickly, "obviously sending you to do lines yourself requires a bit of trust on my part. So to make up for the leniency of the punishment itself, I am assigning you three hundred lines of, "I will arrive to class on time and prepared," to be on my desk by Monday morning. The weekend should give you plenty of time to complete the lines, as well as all of your other obligations." She handed Harry the scrap of parchment, which had the line to be copied written once upon it. "Also, I will appreciate it that you won't tell anyone else about this arrangement. I don't need to hear any complaints about special treatment. Are we clear?"

"Three hundred lines by Monday morning, and don't flash it around," Harry repeated back, grinning.

"Very good, Potter," she nodded in approval. "You may go."

Harry turned to leave, thrilled that his punishment had been so light and convenient.

"Oh, and Potter?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

"I do hope you take Remus Lupin up on his offer." There was a glint in her eye that made Harry wonder how many members of the faculty were keeping an eye on him this year. "I know that what you're going through right now is difficult, on a number of levels, but you're going to have to rely on others as much as yourself if you plan on making it through intact."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry replied. "Thank you, ma'am."

The faculty of Hogwarts had always seemed to know a bit more than they led on, and after having spent time with them as near-peers in business for the Order, Harry knew that they were also more aware than most of Dumbledore's plans for him. As he returned to Gryffindor Tower with the scrap of parchment folded in his pocket, he couldn't help but wonder if all of this attention really had anything to do with his love life, or if they were trying to warn him of a danger that had not yet surfaced.

~%%~

**A/N**: I like sneaky fluff. I also like people getting caught. In case you hadn't noticed, this fic is getting a bit…um…steamy. I don't plan on things being graphic (no 4-letter sex words, anyway), but there will be adult situations. If this is a problem for you, or you are not old enough in your area to read such material, **please discontinue reading!** I am a full advocate of sexual relations between consenting adults, and apparently, Hermione is too.

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 12** came from **wiccanbeliever**, who didn't leave a particularly funny or amusing review, but did point out that I **spelled Remus Lupin's name wrong fourteen times.** Thank you **so much** for pointing out such an obvious (and embarrassing!) error. I hope no one resists the urge to point out inaccuracies or canon errors while reading my story!

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N: **So sorry for the delay. Our home got blasted with influenza type A over the past couple of weeks, and my fevered brain was not up to making words. Please don't forget to check out the companion fic to OKFY, **Brother to Dragons!** If you add an **Author Alert, **you'll be able to get updates as soon as I post for either story!

~%%~

There was no one in the corridors leading from the first floor to the Gryffindor common room. If there had been, they would have seen a young woman whose usually bushy brown hair was now more disheveled than ever, and whose skirt was not quite on straight. Hermione smoothed her skirt absent-mindedly as she walked, but was not aware of her hair, or how bruised and puffed her lips were.

Luckily, most of the Gryffindors were still in class when Hermione wandered in, and the few sixth years who were there were working too hard on their homework to pay her any heed as she moved straight to her dormitory.

Hermione was relieved that Lavender and Parvati were not in the dormitory when she entered. Laying eyes on her four-poster reminded her that she had barely slept at all the past two nights, and she was suddenly exhausted. She thought of all the homework waiting for her, and decided that perhaps she had earned a short nap. She could catch up on her reading and schoolwork while everyone else was at Quidditch practice after dinner. Or perhaps, she wondered, would Harry want her to watch him practice? It was the sort of thing that girlfriends did, after all, though she was almost certain that he would consider that yet another unnecessary risk.

There was a small fireplace in the wall near her bed—a luxury she had noticed was not in the boys' dormitory—but it was not lit, and the tower room was buffeted by winds throughout the day, leaving it chilled. She crawled under the scarlet comforter and into the crisp, clean white sheets. She frowned in disapproval at how obviously new they were, and made a mental note to talk to Dobby yet again about having the sheets on her bed changed less frequently. Still, after the time with Harry in that abandoned classroom, she had to admit that there was something especially luxurious about crawling into fresh sheets to take a nap during her afternoon off from classes.

Still, even when she slipped between the sheets, smelling the soft floral scent of the soap the house elves used, the thrumming of her blood in her veins would not let her sleep. She could not get the darkened images of Harry out of her mind. In the dark, she had only been able to see the trace of his outline, a solid black figure against the ambient darkness. It had been a little frightening and exciting, that vague possibility that someone had replaced Harry, and the trust that she had put in him to behave himself.

As though she had wanted him to.

~%%~

Harry had returned from his meeting with Professor McGonagall in high spirits, and hoping for a chance to sneak off with Hermione again before dinner and Quidditch practice. To his disappointment, however, Hermione was not in the common room when he returned to Gryffindor Tower.

He sat down at one of the few empty tables and tried to focus on the reading for Transfiguration that he had missed that morning, but found himself reading pages at a time without absorbing any of it. He figured that this was as good a time as ever to start on his lines for McGonagall, and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. He looked at the daunting two-foot expanse of yellowed white on the table and dipped his quill with a sigh.

_I will arrive to class on time and prepared._

Well, there was one out of the way. Two hundred ninety-nine to go.

The work was not difficult, but three hundred lines would take hours to do, and Harry was not feeling particularly concentrated at the moment. He had been hoping very much to see Hermione again before dinner, but he knew that she could not spend every spare moment of her day with him. He wondered where she was, and if she had made it back to the common room yet or not. Looking around to make sure no one took notice, he moved to a chair on the other side of the table that offered him a view of the portrait hole, so he would be sure to spot Hermione as soon as she came in.

After seventy-three lines, Harry looked up from his punishment to find that only twenty minutes had passed. Despite the relatively short time, he found himself concerned that she had not yet appeared, and resolved to send someone to check on her as soon as he could manage, though he wondered how he could possibly do so without attracting attention. He knew that he could not take the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and very briefly considered getting his Firebolt to fly to her room, but dismissed it out of hand.

He had nearly reached the halfway point when Ginny sat down beside him and said brightly, "Would you like to get dinner?"

Her sudden appearance startled Harry, and he looked up at her a bit stupidly before comprehending her question. "Erm, sure," he replied, glancing back at the stairs to the girls' dormitory. "Have—have you seen Hermione at all?" he asked casually.

"Not since lunch," she said, "but I'm sure she'll wander down to dinner sooner or later. You know Hermione." She grinned, adding, "She's probably lost in homework or something. Let's go, Captain! We need to get our strength up for practice!"

Harry packed his things as slowly as he could reasonably get away with, but was finally forced to admit that Hermione was not going to appear before meeting them at dinner. With a soft sigh, he followed her to the portrait hole, resisting the urge to glance back at the empty staircase. He resolved to find her later that night, after Quidditch if he had to, and have a few more of those wonderful moments alone.

~%%~

Hermione must have slept far longer than she had meant to, because when she woke up, the afternoon light that had been streaming through the windows was gone, replaced with a distinct ray of light from the nearly full moon outside. She sat up, wondering what time it was, and became instantly aware of what had woken her.

The gentle _click_ of the closing door.

There was someone in the room with her.

Not just someone, but a dark shadow hovering ominously near the door. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, but gathered the sheets closer around herself in any case.

"I—is someone there?" she called timidly.

The figure moved slightly, and she became even more convinced that it was real. She fumbled on her bedside table for her wand, but could not find it. Just as she was gathering her breath to scream, the figure walked through the beam of moonlight, and she saw…

"Harry?" For it was Harry, certainly. She recognized the shape of his unruly hair, the rhythm of his stride.

He moved toward her assuredly, never hesitating until he reached her bedside and gazed down at her.

"How did you get in here?" she asked in confusion. The boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitories. She had seen the rather embarrassing protection charms in action before.

"The door."

"I meant, how did you get past the charms?"

He lowered himself into the bed beside her, seeming to almost levitate in the way he never left his weight on her. "Love, you forget," he whispered, kissing down the shell of her ear and working across her neck, "I'm Harry Potter."

This seemed a perfectly logical response to Hermione, as his hands were gripping her sides, holding her close to his body. His mouth found hers in the near darkness, and once again Hermione felt that searing need for him, much stronger than it had been before, and unlike earlier in the afternoon, he seemed all too willing to push her along. His hands roamed across the front of her robes, caressing her breasts in a tender, wonderful sort of way while he continued nipping and kissing the skin on her neck and all along her collarbone. Her moans were uncontained in the darkness as she writhed beneath him, enjoying the sensation of an oddly shaped item that she was quite sure was not his wand. His knee found a place between her legs as they continued to snog, and Hermione began to grind against him as subtly as she could manage, seeking some kind of quenching of the fire that threatened to spill out of her skin and engulf them both.

"That's it, Hermione," he whispered naughtily. "I want you to come. Come for me, my lovely little witch."

"Oh, Merlin, yes, Harry!" she cried, pressing herself against him over and over, feeling the heat building on her skin, ready to swallow them both in passionate flames. "Harry," she whimpered finally, when she could bear it no more. "I want—I want you to—"

"You want me inside you, darling?" he asked, his eyes bright and shining, two points of green fire in the darkness. "You want it, don't you?"

"Yes, Harry, please! Do it now!" Had it been anyone else, Hermione would have been mortified to realize that such things were erupting from her, but this was Harry, and he wanted her, too.

"Soon," he whispered, his voice raspy and low.

Just as she could feel that mysterious relief nearing, Harry pulled away from her, seeming to fade away as he called her name.

~%%~

Hermione did not appear at dinner, and was still not in the common room when Harry and Ginny returned. They had gone to dinner early, so as not to eat too soon before practice, so he reasoned that she may very well have been planning to eat later. Ginny bade him farewell, mentioning a spot of research she needed to do in the library before practice, and flounced back out of the common room.

Unexpectedly, Ron sat down across from Harry and produced his Transfiguration homework from that morning, setting to work on it without a word. Harry continued on his lines, finishing with barely a half hour until practice. He carefully spread out the parchment, making sure all the ink was dry, so as not to risk smearing the hours of labor when he rolled it up.

"Are those lines?" Ron asked, appalled, as he noticed the repetitive nature of the scroll.

"Yes, from McGonagall." His reply had been automatic, without thinking of the fact that they weren't speaking to one another. "She didn't want us to cancel practice tonight."

"If Lupin kept you behind, you shouldn't've got a punishment at all!" he proclaimed hotly, apparently forgetting their fight that morning. Their eyes met, and it seemed that Ron suddenly remembered his resentment toward Harry. He quickly averted his gaze and fell silent.

"It's alright," Harry replied, not looking at him. They sat in tense silence for several minutes, as Harry very carefully rolled and bound his parchment scroll, not putting it in his satchel for fear of damaging it. He was about to go put his bag in his dormitory when Ron spoke suddenly.

"Have you seen her?" he asked, in what seemed to Harry an overly casual tone. He did not have to ask who 'her' was.

"Not since class," he replied, looking once again at the motionless portrait hole. He supposed that the small lie was entirely forgivable, considering the bruise still vivid on his cheek. He was absolutely certain that Ron would not take kindly to hearing of their afternoon romp on the third-floor.

"You're worried about her?"

It was barely a question; Ron knew him far too well, Harry thought. Of course he was worried about Hermione. Wasn't he always? Well, no, he answered himself as his eyes shifted across the other students in the now full common room, he _hadn't_ always been so protective. He'd certainly had feelings for her for quite some time, and yet he had always known Hermione to be a brilliant witch and an exceptional person, more than capable of handling her own safety. He saw a couple—a second and third year, he thought—sitting by the fire. The girl looked shyly about, as though wondering if anyone was going to tell them off for sitting together. When her eyes caught Harry's, she looked away quickly, blushing a vibrant pink. The boy sitting beside her noticed and turned to see who she had been looking at. When he realized who had caused his girlfriend's blush, he frowned at Harry and but a protective arm around the girl, who snuggled in gratefully.

Seeing them made Harry realize the difference between his generic sort of worry for Hermione's safety when he'd thought she could never be his, and his nearly consuming concern for her health and general well-being now that they had formed a romantic bond. There was something there to be protected now, something that was well worth her indignant claims that she could protect herself perfectly well, thank you very much. Now that she was his, in whatever small way she deigned to offer herself, Harry felt a much more personal stake in protecting their blossoming affection and the delicate flower from which it came.

"I can tell you're worried," Ron added when Harry did not respond.

Harry grunted in the most noncommittal way he could manage, already caught as he was in his probably misplaced concern. He eyes the stairs to the dormitory on either side of the room, then down at the table, examining the dark, worn wood.

"You get all shifty when you're nervous," he continued, as though unaware that he was being mostly ignored. "You look around at everything, like you're expecting an attack from every direction. You're worried because she's missing, and Hermione's never missing from the common room before dinner, because she's always egging us on to do our classwork."

"It's stupid," Harry finally said quietly.

He saw Ron shrug from the corner of his eye. "It's you."

Harry finally looked up at him in surprise. Was this Ron trying to be friendly? Perhaps there was yet hope for their friendship to be renewed.

"I'll send Ginny up to check on her, if you'd like."

"Yeah," he replied thoughtfully, his gaze once again wandering to the girls' dormitory staircase. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

~%%~

"_Hermione!_"

She opened her eyes in surprise, immediately shying away from the bright light as the sunset filled the window in the girls' dormitory. There was still a figure there with her, but this one was decidedly female-shaped as it stepped between her and the offending red sunlight.

"Ginny? What are you—oh dear Merlin!" She came to herself slowly, jerking in surprise as she realized that her hand was pressed tightly at the juncture of her thighs. She pulled the sheets up quickly, trying to hide her rumpled clothing and hoping that she had not been doing what she suspected when Ginny walked in.

"You missed dinner," the red-headed girl said, by way of explanation. "Harry and Ron asked me to come and check on you, since they couldn't come up here."

She smiled at the memory of the boys' encounter with the Glisseo charm the year before, but was still disconcerted to have been caught doing such a thing—if she had been, that was. The terrible thing was, there was no safe way of asking about it, but Ginny seemed to do it for her.

"Um, Hermione?" she asked nervously. "You know how Ron has been acting strangely lately about you and Harry?"

"He's a strange boy," Hermione said after the slightest of pauses. "I'm never quite sure what's going on in his head." This, at least, was true. She still could not put her finger on Ron's problem. She didn't like having to lie to her friend, even by omission, but she knew at the same time that it was bound to be the first of many lies to protect her newfound secret.

"Er, right," Ginny replied, her head dropping. "Never mind, then."

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just—I mean—" She seemed at a rare loss for words, and Hermione was curious to know what had the vivacious girl feeling to disheartened. "If something was going on between you and my brother, one of you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I suppose so," Hermione replied. "But there isn't, so I couldn't say for sure what would happen. You would probably know when you found his corpse in the lake, if not sooner."

Ginny giggled, looking relieved. "Alright. It's just that when I came in, you were—I mean I can't say for sure, but—well, that is…you looked like you were having a very nice, er, dream."

She could feel herself flushing a deeper scarlet than her duvet, and didn't know what to say for several minutes. "Well," she said finally, "I certainly wasn't dreaming about Ron."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Was it Harry?"

"What?" She could not believe that of anyone, Ginny would have been the one to figure it out. Of course, she was the least likely to be suspected, and had always used that to her advantage to learn more than she was given credit for. Hermione should have known that Ginny would be the most likely source of suspicion. "No. It was just—just one of those dreams," she added vaguely, hoping that those dreams were a fairly common thing, and she wasn't turning into a harlot.

"Of course," Ginny nodded in understanding. "So…if you don't mind my asking, do you have those dreams a lot?"

"Not before today," she replied in embarrassment. "There's been something going on with—with a boy. Only I can't tell you who it is."

To her great surprise, Ginny's face split into a wide grin. "Oh, Hermione, I can't begin to tell you how excited I am to hear you say that!" She sat down on the bed, scooting closer with a conspiratorial air. "I'm in the exact same position! We can't tell anyone else about it, but maybe you and I can talk about them, you know, like all the other girls do, only we won't even tell each other who they are!"

"Er…" Hermione's mind was reeling. To have someone to talk to about Harry, about the foreign things she was feeling for him, would be a blessing. She knew that Ginny had dated boys before, so perhaps she would even be able to explain what the normal thing was to do with one's boyfriend. She still couldn't tell anyone about she and Harry explicitly, but maybe it would alleviate some of her loneliness to have someone to commiserate with about the unfairness of their situations.

"I understand if you don't want to," Ginny added quickly, seeing Hermione's hesitation. "It's just that I get so lonely sometimes, when I haven't seen him in a while and I can't even talk to anyone about it, but…" She shrugged nonchalantly. "I understand."

"No, it's—Ginny," she said, feeling terribly for hurting the other girl's feelings. "I think…well, I think it would be just marvelous to have a friend I can confide in about—about him."

"Really?" Hope filled her eyes, and the relief flooding from her was tangible between them. "I've been hiding it for so long. I just never thought there'd be someone else who would understand! So tell me," she whispered, though there was no one in the room with them, "how long has it been going on?"

"Oh, not long."

"But _how_ long?"

"About three days, I think," Hermione replied bashfully.

"Really?" Ginny replied in apparent surprise. "I'd have thought it was much longer than that."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you've just seemed a bit awestruck for the past few weeks," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, since we've come back from the summer holidays. I thought that perhaps something had happened over the summer with somebody from school."

"Oh." Yes, that would have been the growing affection she felt for Harry as she realized that, not only had he matured greatly after the catastrophe with the prophecy and Sirius' death, but that he had also grown several inches and had a distinct air of leadership about him that had not quite been there before. The work he had done with the D.A. had certainly helped, she was sure, but what she thought it really came down to was that his adventures had always been solitary ones. She and Ron had frequently been with him, but the final moments had always been his to bear alone. The rescue attempt at the Ministry had been the first time he had led others into battle, and the loss of Sirius, as well as the injuries others had sustained—herself and Ron included—had almost assuredly opened his eyes to what it meant to be the Chosen One.

In the first week after coming back to school, Hermione had seen several young students asking Harry where things were in the castle. He was a figure they recognized, and though he usually thought that they were only asking him to say they had talked to someone famous, she suspected that it was more the energy he gave off, that told people they could follow, and he would lead them well. Even though he didn't think they really needed directions half the time, Harry had patiently directed each and every one of them to where they needed to go, treating them as equals, not as children, and offering to take them if he had the time.

Just thinking about this new side of Harry had those tingling sensations building, and she had to pull herself from her reverie to keep from further humiliation in front of Ginny. She saw the other girl was looking at her expectantly, and added, "No, it's only been the past few days. I suppose it was inevitable that I would feel the way I do, but it's still a strange thing to know that it's happening."

"I know _exactly_ what you mean," Ginny replied, nodding fervently. "I'd have never imagined that I would end up with—with who I'm with. Ever. I still can't imagine it, sometimes, even when I'm right there in his arms."

"Oh, I imagined it plenty," Hermione countered, grinning. "I just never thought he would feel the same way. And do you know, I think it's even worse than it was before I knew he felt the same way, because I can't tell anyone, so it almost feels like it's a dream, and it's like…" she trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Like you wake up every time you step outside and no one else knows but you," Ginny finished. Hermione nodded. "It's heart-breaking sometimes, Hermione. Honestly, because...well, because we have to pretend to be with other people, and it kills me sometimes, because I can't help but wonder if that's where his heart really is, and if maybe I'm the one he's pretending for."

It struck Hermione that Ginny did have a public boyfriend, and asked, "So, Michael Corner, is he just pretend?"

"I really do like Michael. I mean he's a nice enough person, and not a half-bad kisser, but he just doesn't light up my world like—like _he_ does." She didn't have to say it for Hermione to know who _he_ was. It was certainly going to be difficult to avoid saying their names, but she was positive that it would be worth it to have someone to talk to. "It's just—the way he is with me." Ginny's eyes closed and she breathed deeply. "It's like the rest of the world just doesn't matter anymore, and even though we would both be—I mean, the reasons we can't let anyone else know don't even matter anymore, and all we have to do is be together for everything to be okay. I just wish," she sniffled, "that that could be us all the time, not just when he can get away from things to see me."

Hermione put a rather awkward arm around her distressed friend. "Ginny…do you love him?"

She sat up, looking confused, but a bit slap-happy. "Do you know," she whispered, a dazed smile filling her face, "I think I do. It's madness, really, but I think I love him." A tear slid silently down her cheek. She touched it as though surprised, and looked at it on her finger as she spoke. "Do you?"

"I don't know, it's not been long at all," she answered, wandering off into her own thoughts again. "I don't suppose there's a time where you go from not loving someone to loving them, not as though there's a box you can check that says, 'Ah, yesterday I didn't, but now? Today, I love him'."

Ginny giggled again and said, "No, I don't suppose there is. It would make life so much simpler, though. I haven't told him. I don't know what he'd do. He calls me 'love,' but I don't think it means quite the same thing."

"Lavender and Parvati call each other that," Hermione said, a slow grin spreading. She eyed Ginny pointedly, and they fell over in giddy laughter. They finally settled down, clutching at their sore stomachs as they lay together on Hermione's bed, staring at the familiar cover on the four-poster as each girl fell into her own thoughts.

Hermione, for her part, couldn't get her dream Harry out of her head. He had been so forceful, so open in his desire for her. That was what she wanted, for Harry to openly want her. She had seen other boys gently caress their girlfriends in the corridors, a quick kiss between classes, or a small hidden pinch that had the girl yelping in surprise. That wasn't what she and Harry could have, she realized with a small pain. They would only have those stolen moments in the library and empty classrooms.

"Ginny?" she said softly.

"Hmm?"

"What do you do with him?"

"What do you mean?"

Hermione propped herself on her elbow before speaking. "I mean, you can't go on dates in Hogsmeade or for walks around the grounds. So what do you do?"

"Oh," Ginny mused. She flushed slightly. "Mostly we sneak off to empty classrooms or dungeons. Sometimes broom cupboards. We actually went to the Room of Requirement several times, which was lovely."

"What did you do there?" she asked innocently.

"What do you think we do?" she replied, mirroring Hermione's position. "We kiss and we touch…and then we shag." Her smile was so wide, Hermione thought it might not all fit on her face. "And after, we just spend as much time as we can together. Just talking and holding each other…" Her gaze had drifted off into the middle distance, clearly thinking about nothing more than her mysterious lover. "And then sometimes we shag again," she said, winking impishly at Hermione.

"What's it, erm…what's it like?" Hermione asked, not quite able to look at her friend.

"Shagging?"

"Yes." She played with the hem of her sheets, still unwilling to look at Ginny.

"You mean you've never shagged before? Not even once?" She sounded incredulous, and Hermione finally had to look up at her in dismay.

"When would I have? In case you hadn't noticed, the boys here find me a bit repulsive."

"Well, I thought perhaps while you were at home during holidays, or perhaps with Krum," Ginny offered blankly. "I guess I hadn't really thought of it, but, well, everyone does, don't they? And obviously," she added, grinning again, "not _all_ of them find you repulsive."

"No, I suppose not _all_ of them," Hermione conceded with a sarcastic smile. "There's a blessing. So what's it like? Is it amazing?"

"Well, with Michael Corner it was mostly just awkward. And it hurt a lot. Kind of a lot, actually. But with—with _him_, it's like—like nothing I can even put into words. The way he holds me is just so, so, so, so I can't even say what it's like. Like he doesn't want anything or anyone but me and I'm all that matters and for that moment it's just the two of us and there's no war or hatred or blood feuds or house colors or the Order or the Death Eaters or anything and we're just together. He makes me feel…complete.

"School romances shouldn't feel like that, Hermione. I just know that's not normal, and what's even worse, is that with the war going on, and You-Know-Who back to power, there's absolutely nothing that should be more important than staying loyal to the cause and if anyone found out—oh Merlin, I don't even know what would happen."

"Ginny," Hermione said slowly, "is he on—on the other side of the war?"

"His family is," she whispered in a defeated tone. "He's not, though, but if they ever knew, I think—I think his family would kill him." She whispered the last almost silently, so that Hermione had to lean in to hear.

"You can't mean that."

"No, I do. It's dangerous for us to be together, so please Hermione, don't even tell anyone about it, please!" she begged.

"Oh, Ginny, of course I won't," Hermione whispered, hugging her friend close. "I think we may be a danger, too, to ourselves."

"Everyone seems to have enemies now," Ginny sobbed into Hermione's shoulder. "It's as though there's nothing that can be innocent or simple. There's always betrayal and death and loyalty to worry about too, and it's just not fair."

"The world is seldom fair," she said thoughtfully. "But at least we've found them. And each other. Things will be easier now, won't it? Now that we both have someone to talk to?"

"I hope so."

They were silent for several minutes, when there was a knock on the door. It cracked open and Lavender poked her face in. "Ginny? Harry says you'd better get down there, or you can watch practice from the bleachers with everyone else."

Ginny rolled her eyes and said to Hermione, "I'd better get going. Are you going to come watch practice?"

"Would that be alright? I don't want to get in anybody's way."

"Of course not. People usually watch from the stands," she replied easily, watching Lavender close the door behind her. "It might even help you get your mind off your boy troubles." Hermione held back a scoff at the irony of Ginny's suggestion, but nevertheless grabbed her wand from her bedside table, and, tucking it into her robes, followed her new confidante down the stairs to the common room.

When the rounded the bottom of the stairs, Hermione saw most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team gathered near the portrait hole. Ron and one of the Chasers she didn't know stood with nothing but their brooms in their hands. The others, whom Hermione assumed would be using school brooms, were empty-handed as they all waited for Ginny.

"Are you coming to practice?" Ron asked, rather curtly she thought.

"Er, yes," she replied awkwardly. "If that's alright, I mean."

He shrugged noncommittally. "As you like. C'mon you lot; Captain's already down at the pitch."

~%%~

**A/N**: Terrible ending, _lo siento_, but I'm anxious to get to the good stuff!

Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!

The winner of my favorite review line from **Chapter 13** was actually really tough to pick this time! I had two favs, but the best came from **ThePyromaniac**, who not only has a fabulous name, but who said: "SOOO many squee moments." Also, shout-outs to **actressen **and **Lauren-Nicole33**, who have been two of the kindest reviews so far.

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** This apparently didn't take long at all, though it's admittedly a bit shorter (just under 4,000). I have several fluffy plot bunnies hopping around for the next couple of chapters, then back to BtD. I literally sat down at about ten o' clock last night and wrote for two hours. Then I went to bed, got up, did some stuff, edited, and now I am posting, just a few days after the last post. I hope to get at least two chapters in on this story before I return to BtD, but no promises. It all depends on how the plots line up.

I do realize that I have been shamelessly ignoring OKFY in favor of Brother to Dragons, and for that, I am very sorry. **However**, if you add an **Alert** for me or both stories, you'll get a friendly email every time I post a new chapter of either!

~%%~

The familiar scarlet fabric felt heavy that night. It was the same shade of crimson it had always been, the same thick cotton designed to block the wind and rain, and the same gold threading still read 'POTTER' across the shoulders. Even the loose thread in the 'E' was exactly as he had left it the previous year, his Quidditch season having been cut off by Umbridge before he could mend it.

Flying on a broomstick had been the first thing at Hogwarts that had truly come easily to Harry, the first subject where he hadn't felt a million miles behind his peers who had grown up knowing about magic and witchcraft. It had been his refuge from people like Malfoy, whose taunts and threats had held no weight when they were both suspended in the air. Learning and playing Quidditch had always held his mind together, given him a focus of time to come as he prepared for exams, learned new magic, and fought constantly against looming dangers. The previous two years with little or no Quidditch had been difficult, at best, though he realized with a wry smile that having Hermione there had helped him a great deal. After all, she had been the one to make sure he prepared for his Tri-Wizard Tasks, and who had been the initial catalyst in the formation of the D.A. the year before, which had admittedly fueled his sense of purpose.

Even with Hermione's help, though, time had seemed somewhat sluggish compared to the adrenaline rush of each new match, the rush of wind through his tangled hair as he raced toward the distant glint that was the Golden Snitch. Captaincy or no, Harry had been looking forward to Quidditch this year more than almost anything else.

But tonight, Harry's first practice as Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, he felt drained of energy. He supposed the fact that he had been up with Hermione for the past two nights in a row had contributed to his feeling of exhaustion, and he smiled with the realization that it had been more than worth it. Harry's first kiss with Cho had been nothing like that heated encounter in the classroom, and even less like the tender kisses in the library. It had been awkward, almost painfully so, and had not ignited a spark the way every brush with Hermione had.

His mind once again derailed by thoughts of his new girlfriend—his gut still twisted enjoyably to even think the word—he found himself wondering, yet again, if she would have allowed him to go farther. It had been flitting through his mind all evening; brief fantasies of Hermione in his bed, Hermione crying out his name, Hermione's head falling back in all-consuming pleasure, provided by him, of course. Each time he had caught such images floating through his mind, his stomach had clenched in shame for thinking of her that way and he quickly put the idea from his head.

Now, alone in the locker room before Quidditch practice, he was finding it much more difficult to ignore such wicked thoughts. Pulling his Quidditch robes onto his shoulders, he glanced at the door leading to the showers, and wondered if he could perhaps find some time alone later in the evening to relieve some of his Hermione-related discomfort. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of using her—even incorporeally—in such a debasing way, but he didn't know how much longer he could stand to be around her without some kind of respite, and he didn't want to lose one second of time he could spend with her.

With a sigh, he pulled the key ring Professor McGonagall had given him from his pocket, and slipped through the door connecting the locker rooms to the broom shed. A small closet at the far end of the broom shed held the practice equipment, accessible only by Madam Hooch and team Captains, each with his own set of keys. Harry selected the large rusted iron key and pulled the trunk of practice balls from its position in the bottom of the closet, dragging it through the locker room and out onto the field.

Harry had gone down to the Quidditch stadium by five-thirty, wanting to make sure that he was fully prepared for his first practice in his new position. He had stacked the benches against one wall to give them room for warm-ups. He had already pulled out Oliver Wood's old easel and markers and had roughly sketched some of the positions that Ginny had discussed with him over lunch that day. He had plotted a general idea of what they would do that evening, spending the remaining hour or so of daylight in the air, seeing how they worked together as a team, and once it got too dark to see the balls, they would retire to the locker room, where he would explain their strategy for the season. He felt suddenly much worse for ever having ignored Wood's pep talks now that he was on the other end of them, and wished that he had paid more attention. Perhaps then he would have a better idea of what he should tell his team.

He judged that it was nearing six-thirty and, gripping his Firebolt tightly in the hopes that it would lend him some extra courage, he leaned against the wall to wait in what he fervently hoped was a nonchalant, authoritative sort of way.

~%%~

As the group of Gryffindors saw themselves out of the castle, Hermione naturally fell behind the chatting players. It had been a life-long habit of hers in situations where she knew she was not strictly wanted. When it was just she, Ron, and Harry—her heart squinched painfully at the memory of how easy it all used to be—she felt like a true third of the Golden Trio, as they had been dubbed. But even in primary school, she had held behind her classmates in the hopes that she could feel like a part of the group, if a trivial one, without risking being too close for someone to notice her and tell her to go away.

Ginny noticed her friend and slowly fell behind the others to keep her company. "Knut for your thoughts?" she offered, seeing Hermione's furrowed brow.

She started slightly and muttered, "Oh, nothing important." She was surprised when Ginny held her forearm, deliberately slowing their pace to give them a hint of privacy.

"Thinking about your mystery again?" she asked mischievously.

Hermione didn't have to ask what 'mystery' she meant, and honestly replied, "No, not really." She pictured Harry as she had last seen him in his Quidditch robes and grinned, wondering how they would fit him after so long. A slow smile grew on her face, recalling that wonderful muscled frame she had somehow never noticed before. She would have to keep a weather eye for any signs of that delicate flex-and-release motion she had enjoyed so many times the night before.

"Now you are." A sly grin spread across the red-head's face.

"Yes, now I am." All thoughts of an unpleasant nature fled at once, leaving Hermione excited for the coming practice. "What should we call them?" she whispered, though the others were far enough ahead, they were unlikely to be overheard.

"I don't know," Ginny admitted. "I suppose we should call them something, shouldn't we?"

"Yes…" Hermione mused. "It'll have to be something subtle, so we can't guess, obviously, and so no one else can if they happen to overhear us."

"And it wouldn't hurt if it were something innocuous. You know, so we _can_ talk about them with other people nearby. Like I could say, "Would you like to go to dinner?" and that means I want to talk boys."

"But," Hermione argued, "it has to be something we wouldn't normally talk about, so I don't think that every time you say that, that's what it means. What if you really do want to go to dinner?"

"That's a good point."

They walked in silence for several minutes until they reached the edge of the stadium, where the tall double admittance doors loomed, with a nondescript wooden door on either side, which Hermione knew, though not from experience, led to the team locker rooms.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you later," she said awkwardly, realizing this would have to be where they parted.

"Yeah, just go pick a seat," Ginny replied brightly. "It'll be great, really! We might not do anything too exciting tonight; I don't know what Harry's got planned. I hope you get to see something fun!" She reached out for a quick hug and added quietly, "And I'll keep thinking about…you know what."

"Okay, me too," she whispered in response, though there was no one around to hear them. With an uncharacteristic giggle, Hermione separated from her friend and began the long climb up the stairs leading to the spectators' stands.

Hermione hadn't noticed how empty the common room had been upstairs, but it must have been, she thought as she rounded the top of the staircase, because nearly all of Gryffindor House was sitting in the stands, waiting for practice to begin when she arrived. There were even a few dozen she didn't remember seeing in the common room before, who must have been from other houses. Having shown up with the team, there were few seats left, so she had to settle for a spot on the edge of the group, just behind a group of first-year girls, who were giggling and whispering amongst themselves.

It didn't take long for her to realize that the bulk of their giggles were resulting from whispers about a certain team Captain. She scowled lightly at them, ready to tell them off for disrespecting a fellow Gryffindor in such a way, but had to stop herself. Hadn't she been doing that very same thing only hours before? Glancing around to make sure no one was looking her way—no one ever was—Hermione allowed herself a small, naughty grin. Without someone to talk to while she waited, she amused herself by looking around at the crowd and the stadium. Her eye caught on a small bit of moment from the field, and she saw a flash of orange as someone with red hair slipped back into the locker room.

~%%~

Harry's moments of quiet contemplation in the locker room were interrupted by the sound of the exterior door banging and several footsteps moving up the hallway toward the main room. A large concrete corridor separated the changing room from the door, to give players and faculty alike enough time to announce themselves before walking in on anything indecent. The thought made Harry wonder how quickly Hermione could pull her robes back on, if necessary.

This line of thinking was quickly put on hold by the explosion of his team around the corner of the separating wall. _His team_. It was a foreign notion, and one that brought not a little bit of mixed fear and excitement to the forefront of his mind.

The Gryffindor team grabbed their robes, the boys changing in the same room, while the girls went behind another separating wall into an identical room. The excited chatter was deafening as it echoed off the stone walls of the small space.

In the cramped space, Ron approached Harry, moving as one who does not want to be seen. He scuffed his shoe uncomfortably against the floor and looked up to mutter, "I saw what you were writing in Lupin's class today."

Of anything Ron could have said, Harry would never have guessed such an odd statement. His mind reeled as he tried to remember that far back in the day, cringing internally as he remembered his half-notes, half-ranting scribbles that he had been working on throughout the class. "Ron, I—" But Ron cut him off.

"I'm still angry," he began, in a tone that suggested he had planned this out and was not going to stop talking until he had said it. "But I just want you to know—I'm not jealous. That's—that's not it."

"Er, thanks," Harry said, entirely unsure whether this was an appropriate answer or not.

"And I want you to know, too," Ron added as an afterthought, "that I won't let this affect the team."

"I appreciate that." It was the truth, and this time he knew it was the right thing to say. Ron might be an idiot sometimes, and he might be a hot-head…well, all the time, but he was still man enough to own up to his commitments and prove to the school that the last year's Quidditch championship was only the beginning.

The girls began trickling back into the main room, and the group fell quiet as they turned to Harry, waiting for him to begin the practice.

"Alright," he started, feeling a delicate tremble in his left knee, "you lot," he added lamely. "I'm not going to lie; this is new for me. I've never been the leader in Quidditch before, and I've not played with most of you yet. This will be our first practice as a team, so we're just going to test the waters, and see how it goes.

"What I have planned for tonight is simple. We should have about an hour and a half of daylight left, and in that time, I want us to first do some warm-ups exercises. Nothing too harsh, just push-ups and sit-ups for tonight. Next time, we'll have a day practice, and I want you to know now, we will be doing laps. For now, though, I don't want to waste daylight on our first practice." He had been working on this compromise while doing his lines earlier in the evening. He hoped that it was a decent settlement for Ron and Ginny's argument at lunch.

"Then, we'll go out on the field and split up—"

"What, no scrimmage?" Demelza interrupted indignantly.

"Captain's talking," Ginny barked over her, effectively silencing her protests.

Harry grinned at her gratefully, and continued, "We'll split up. Ginny is going to work with the Chasers, and Ron will be with the Beaters. I'll circle around and keep track of everything. Any questions?" he added, looking pointedly at Demelza, who was now blushing furiously.

"Hey, get a load of this!" Ron exclaimed from somewhere to his right. Harry turned and saw that Ron had stuck his head out the door to peer into the stands. "Looks like the whole house is here!"

"Well, we knew they would be," Ginny responded blithely. "Have any of the other houses shown up?"

"I can't tell," he replied. "But that definitely looks like more than just Gryffindors, and—blimey, I think that's—is that? Harry, come have a look."

Harry poked his head out the door, hoping as he did so that he was imagining how very many people had shown up to watch their first practice and were now sitting in the stands, eagerly awaiting their arrival onto the pitch. He remembered what Hermione had said the day of the team tryouts, about them being there to see _him_, rather than Quidditch. He flushed lightly as he remembered her other words, that he had never been more fanciable. A different color fell over those words as he compared them to the past few days. It seemed Hermione had not only been speaking of the other Gryffindor girls. "What am I looking for?" he asked Ron.

Ron joined him in the doorway, jerking his head toward one of the unoccupied stands. Or so Harry thought. Squinting, he could see a pale figure tucked into the shadows.

"Is that…?"

"Malfoy," he confirmed darkly. "Spying, no doubt."

"But why would he spy on us?" Harry wondered. "Practices are open to anyone."

"Because he's a slimy git," Ron snapped, as though that settled the matter. Which, when talking with the hot-head, it usually did.

"Well then, we'll just have to practice twice as hard, so Malfoy can take the news back to his team that they've got no chance and they should just give up now," he said bracingly, though it privately made him a bit sick inside to know that Malfoy could be witness to his greatest failure as a Hogwarts student. If this practice didn't go off without a hitch, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to show his face in the common room the next morning.

"We should do something," Ron said suddenly.

"What are you on about?" Ginny asked. "We're about to go out and practice."

"No," he said hurriedly, now that he had their attention. "I mean we should do something really cool, to get the fans revved up for the season. Fly out there in style. Remember the teams at the World Cup?"

"Yes, but that was at the Quidditch World Cup," Katie responded. "We're no Ireland."

There was a moment of silence, and Ginny looked to Harry for his response, the others quickly following suit. The sudden shift of attention made Harry rather uncomfortable, as he realized they were all waiting for his decision on the matter.

Deciding to go for the more democratic approach, he said, "What do you all think of it?"

"I say let's do it!" Demelza pronounced, leaping to her feet, apparently ready to make up for her previous misstep.

"We've never done anything like that before," Katie said doubtfully.

"Could be fun," Ginny said to her, shrugging. "We're a whole new team, more or less. It might do us some good to show ourselves as a united front."

"I agree," Harry nodded. Turning to Ron, he said, "What did you have in mind?"

Ron looked surprised that the design had been left to him. "Well," he began slowly, "we could go back outside and take off from the outside of the stadium, sort of surprise them a bit, you know?"

"And then zoom straight toward the stands, and veer off at the last second!" Demelza added enthusiastically.

"Yeah!" Ron's response was instant and excited, and the feel of giddy anticipation began spreading through them, even infecting doubtful Katie.

"What if we flew straight toward them, and then all took off in different directions?" she offered. "You know, explode out like fireworks on brooms!"

Harry looked around at his excited teammates, and reminded himself to thank Ron for such a spectacular idea. If they could pull this off, he was certain that the boost in morale would improve this first practice tenfold, and perhaps give them the momentum they needed to keep going all season long.

So they grabbed their brooms, making sure their robes were fastened only on the top third—Ginny's idea, to ensure that their scarlet robes would fly behind them like capes—and followed one another out of the locker rooms.

They all looked to Harry as they mounted their brooms, but Harry looked to Ron. "Your lead," he said.

"What, me?" Ron replied dumbly.

"I'm just the Captain," Harry reminded him, grinning widely. "You're the King."

~%%~

The Gryffindors in the stands were getting restless, and besides whichever of the Weasleys Hermione had seen peeking out of the door, there had been no movement for several minutes, and no sign that the team would be appearing anytime soon. She remembered hearing Fred, George, and Harry discussing Oliver Wood's long pre-practice talks, and wondered if that was what Harry was doing now.

Shrieks and screams of delight came from the other end of the stands, and it took only seconds for them to spread to every Gryffindor—and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who were in the stands as well—as they realized what was happening. Seven streaks of bright crimson were cresting the top of the far end of the stadium, hurtling toward the onlookers. Hermione could just pick out Ron's red hair in the lead, and Harry's and Ginny's telltale locks just behind him. She was impressed that Harry had chosen to allow Ron to lead. As the hero of the Gryffindor team the year before, she knew it would mean a lot to Ron to be recognized so openly by the best friend who had always outstripped him, and so simple a gesture on Harry's part might go a long way in easing Ron's feelings of abandonment and…whatever else his problem was.

Harry knew Ron was eating up the attention as the head of their rough V-formation, and he was so entranced with the feeling of once again being in the air, being part of a team, that he didn't particularly care that someone else was going to get the credit for this little stunt. The wind whipped through his hair, whistling in his ears, and though he felt the urge to go as fast as he could, he stayed dutifully in formation, letting Ron keep the pace.

As they had discussed before taking off, they dropped altitude as they approach the spectators' stands and tightened their formation as much as could be safely managed. Following Ron's lead, they swept up the sides of the stands at a near vertical angle. He could see those in the front rows peering eagerly over the sides to watch their ascent, and laughed aloud when they scampered backward to avoid being struck.

The screams of the crowd were like a drug, egging the whole team on He saw Hermione leaping to her feet with the rest of the crowd, cheering them on. _Cheering _me_ on_, he reminded himself, enjoying how his heart seemed to skip a beat at the notion. He urged his broom on a bit faster, flying straight toward her—and, he noticed vaguely, a group of shrieking younger girls. Just before he was close enough that he could have reached out to touch her, Harry wrenched his broom upward, spiraling into a dizzying upside-down arc that left the whole crowd roaring his name as he dropped into the line beside his team. But the one voice he sought out filled him with elation as he heard Hermione screaming for him, looked up and saw her jumping, dancing, kicking, hugging the girls in front of her, pumping her fists in the air, all with a distinct lack of poise and dignity.

It was wonderful.

~%%~

**A/N**: So, if any of my fellow HP fans moonlight as a Gleek, like I do, I may need someone to restrain me if I inject too much Kurt into my Ron. It's a slim chance, but I've been reading a lot of Klaine fics lately, because canon hasn't provided me with enough fangirl fodder, and it might manage to sneak into my writing. Plzkthx.

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.

**A/N:** I don't know if there's anyone even reading this anymore, it's been so long since I've posted. I'm very sorry for how long it's been, but I'm sure we all understand how crazy life gets. Working more than full time and going to school certainly takes its toll on my free time for writing. I genuinely don't know when the next chapter of this or BtD will be posted, but please know I am constantly working on both of them, even if you don't see the results right away.

~% %~

Hermione's heart was racing frantically as the Gryffindor players left the Quidditch pitch for the privacy of the locker room, and she doubted very much that house spirit was entirely to blame. Ginny didn't reappear from the locker room, and so Hermione was unsure how to proceed.

Beginning her way down the steps, she realized that not only was she following the path made by her lit wand, but she had called forth the light non-verbally, and without really thinking about it or deciding to do so. It was a small victory against non-verbal spells, but a victory nonetheless. She saw adults in the magical world flicking their wands thoughtlessly to make the simplest day-to-day things happen, and realized that she was on the way to becoming a real adult witch.

She didn't want to loiter outside the players' door and wait for them to finish, but it was dark enough by then that she didn't really want to go back to the castle on her own. She had nearly steeled herself to just buck up and walk back past the blackened forest and up to the dark and looming castle doors when Ginny appeared around a corner coming up the stairs, looking rather flushed.

"Hallo," she panted. "I just wanted to let you know that…well, that _he_ came to watch practice tonight, and after Harry's done with the team meeting, we're going to head off for…for some private time, if you know what I mean." She winked. "Anyway, we won't be long at all, but I was hoping you could maybe wait for me in the locker room? It's nice and warm in there, and then we don't have to walk back on our own after?"

"Oh, of course," Hermione nodded, pleased to have a solution.

"Great, thanks so much Hermione!" Ginny ran up the stairs to give her a quick hug. She had disappeared back round the corner before it occurred to Hermione that she didn't know what to do with herself until the team meeting was over.

She wandered down onto the Quidditch pitch, taking a moment to marvel at the size of the field. Standing in the center, looking up at the goalposts, the field seemed so much larger than it ever did from the stands. Hermione tried to imagine what it must feel like to be riding high above this green grass, playing such an exhilarating sport. Or at least, what Harry, Ron, and so many others thought was so exhilarating. For herself, Hermione had always found flying to be one of the most terrifying things she had done at Hogwarts, including the time she had accidentally added cat hair to her Polyjuice Potion.

Watching Harry practice with the other Gryffindors had been thrilling, almost as exciting as a watching a real match. It didn't matter that she wasn't particularly fond of Quidditch; it was obviously the players that had her more interested in the sport at the moment. Or more specifically, she reminded herself, the _player_. There was no question that she had barely paid attention to anyone who wasn't within ten paces of Harry for the entire time they had been in the air.

~% %~

After their wildly productive practice, the Gryffindor team filed back into the locker rooms, whooping and cheering themselves. Harry brought up the rear, grinning from ear to ear in pride for how well the evening had gone. They had spent all the daylight they had running drills in small groups, and Harry was confident that they would carry this momentum through the entire Quidditch season and celebrate another Gryffindor victory in the Quidditch Cup.

He kept his post-practice speech short, not wanting to put a damper on their enthusiasm with a long-winded lecture. He tried his best to keep it upbeat, using the excitement in the air to power them through a quick plan for the season. They established that they would have practices every Saturday morning that he could book the stadium, and as many as twice a week until their first match, which would be in three weeks, against Slytherin. Ginny showed up a few minutes into the speech, mentioning something vague about having asked Hermione to wait for them to finish up, but everyone's moods were too high to be overly concerned with her tardiness.

When he dismissed them, the other players changed quickly out of their Quidditch robes, leaving them in the bin that would be emptied later by the Hogwarts house elves and tucking their school brooms into the broom shed that Harry had opened for them. Ron helped him drag the trunk of practice equipment back into the broom shed, and Harry locked the door, tucking the keys carefully into his pocket.

"Want help with the benches?" Ron offered, nodding to the long wooden stacks on the wall.

"I'll take care of it." Though he and Ron had seemed at least amiable through practice, there was still a tension between them, and Harry had reached a point where he just needed to be away from that kind of unpleasantness.

What he really wanted, he thought idly to himself, was a few moments alone with Hermione. After such an excellent practice, he wasn't focused on the physical aspect, but more on just having her there to quietly celebrate this small bit of success. Of course, it would also be nice if he could pin her against the concrete wall and snog for a few hours.

He was interrupted from his less-than-chivalrous line of thought by Ginny, who had poked her head back into the locker room from behind the separating wall. It was an almost comical sight, and one that reminded him strongly of Fred and George, as her angle into the room was so severe she had wrapped one arm around the stone barrier in front of her to keep from falling over. There was something else about her pose that reminded him of something, but he was stopped from pondering too hard on what it was by her much more interesting news.

"Hermione's on her way down," she said breathlessly. "Michael came to watch, and I'll be a bit with him. I told her to wait here for me so we could walk back up together after he goes back up to the castle. Is that alright?"

"Sure," he replied good-naturedly, thinking privately that that sounded like the perfect way to end the evening. "Want me to wait to walk both of you back?"

"That would be lovely!" she called as she spun suddenly back around the corner, giggling, and he had a distinct impression that Michael Corner had just pulled her out the door behind him. He hadn't remembered seeing Corner in the stands, he mused idly, but then again, he had to admit that most of his attention had been focused on the practice, and anything left over, on Hermione.

Shaking his head at antics he knew Ginny would not have pulled had her over-protective brother been around, Harry began moving the benches back into place. He was down to the last two when the door creaked open, and a timid voice echoed through the room.

"Hello?" Even though he had been expecting her to appear, his heart leapt at her awaited arrival.

"Hello," he responded brightly, reaching for another bench. "Come on in."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said in surprise as she rounded the corner. Despite their comfort together earlier that day, neither was entirely sure what do say or do when they were alone, and if there was someone else in the room, Hermione didn't want to risk saying something to give them away. She watched as Harry placed the final bench in its position on the floor, before saying carefully, "I didn't think there was anyone else in here."

He smirked at her, something she found surprisingly attractive, and replied, "Well, technically speaking, there's not."

His meaning was quite clear, and she went to him at once, his arms open just the slightest in invitation. As he had been earlier in the day, Harry was strong with her, unconcerned that she might reject him, and a small part of her whispered that men were always more confident after something important goes particularly well for them.

Mostly, she ignored that silly little piece of herself and allowed the tingling sensation of desire to creep across her skin as his lips moved against hers. The Quidditch robes were heavy and scratchy beneath her fingers, and she realized distantly that she must have grasped them in her hands at some point.

Harry smelled so strongly of sweat and grass and pure, unadulterated masculinity that she thought she might swoon. The dark spicy scent she had come to associate with him filled every pore of her skin, wrapping around her like a quiet, personal storm.

After playing Captain for the past several hours, Harry couldn't help but take charge with Hermione, too. His hands gripped her waist tightly, pulling her as close as he could manage, though a part of him knew that skin contact was what he really desired. So without really stopping to think about it, he shucked off his heavy Quidditch robes to bring her that millimeter closer. Flashes of their nude bodies pressed together came to mind, and he unthinkingly groaned into her kiss at the thought.

Rather than frighten her off, however, Hermione seemed spurred on by the sound he was making, and in fact let loose a small sigh of her own against his lips. He led them back the short distance to the wall at his back so he could lean against it. He spread his legs just a bit to lessen the height difference, which Hermione took as an invitation.

Stepping into the space between Harry's legs, Hermione found herself able to reach his mouth without standing on tip-toe, a much more enjoyable experience, she thought. Not having to think about her balance left her heated mind free to suggest that now might be a good time to tangle her hands in Harry's dark hair.

Harry could feel a familiar heat gathering in his limbs and coursing steadily toward his stomach. He knew that things were getting a bit too intense, a bit too heated for him to handle, but he didn't want to give up this moment with Hermione.

The way her hand was stretched through his hair, alternately tugging at the longer hairs and petting gently against the shorter ones at the nape of his neck; the way her body arched into his, seeming to fit perfectly in that gap that he had created between his feet; the angle of their mouths that allowed his tongue to flick gently just behind her teeth and make her make those lovely soft noises. He was quite certain that this was absolute perfection, right here where they were. If they moved, even a bit, he was afraid that they would never find this perfect position ever, ever again.

His body, it seemed, agreed completely.

All too soon, he found himself tearing away from her wonderful orange blossom lips with a ragged breath. As much as it pained him to do it, Harry pushed her away gently, gripping her forearms to keep her at arms' length.

"Wha…?"

Her eyes were glazed over slightly, and she seemed more surprised than upset over the sudden halt in their activities.

"Harry, what is it?"

It seemed to Harry that she must never have said his name out loud before, or if she had, he had not been listening _at all_. Because the small movements in her lips as she whispered his name had his mind positively reeling. The beauty of _his name_ in _that tone_ on _Hermione's lips_ was too much for him to process.

It took a moment before he remembered that she had, in fact, asked him a question, and he fumbled for a response. "Ginny," he grunted.

"Yes, what about her?"

"She's supposed to come back and meet us here, isn't she?"

"Oh," she sighed, realizing his point. "Yes, I suppose she will be back soon enough. But…we can hear anyone coming in, can't we?"

As always, Hermione made a good point, but Harry knew if he pulled her back into his arms and took up where they had left off, he would be nearly guaranteed to humiliate himself.

"It's been a bit already though, hasn't it?" he asked, sounding a bit pathetic even to himself. "She should have been back by now. Maybe we should go look for her. You know, just in case."

Harry secretly thought to himself that Ginny would probably kill him if they interrupted her tryst with Michael Corner just to drag her back up to the castle, but Ginny's wrath seemed perfectly acceptable when compared to the possible embarrassment he and Hermione would both have to endure if they continued on and were caught.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione nodded her agreement and made to right her clothes, blushing a bit when she saw Harry bend to retrieve his heavy Quidditch robes from where they had been left to pool on the floor.

She followed him out the door, blinking into the sudden darkness as he turned to lock the door behind them.

"Ginny?" Harry called, already feeling stupid for suggesting this.

"She'll be quite furious if we interrupt them, you know," Hermione whispered.

"I know," he said with a sigh. "But it's getting cold, and we really ought to be getting back before anyone gets suspicious, don't you think?"

"Yes."

Harry took a moment to enjoy the disappointment obvious in her voice before beginning to walk away, having come to a decision. "Let's take a round about the Quidditch pitch, then go round near the edge of the forest. If she's not there, they're probably hidden too well for us to find."

"She's not likely to be nearby, do you think?" Hermione said softly.

"No, probably not," he said lightly. "But it's as good an excuse as any for a nighttime stroll, don't you think?" As they rounded the first curve of the massive stadium, the moonlight illuminated a hundred yard stretch with no one to be seen, so glancing over his shoulder, Harry reached over to twine his fingers into Hermione's.

"Yes, it is." She drifted closer to him until their arms brushed with every step, and they quickly fell into matching step together. "So where do you suppose they ran off to?"

"Mm, I expect she'll be…er…" He turned to Hermione, suddenly out of his element. "Er…where is it students go, to…?"

Hermione herself looked taken aback. "Well, I suppose…I suppose I don't know, really. I thought you'd have been…somewhere with—with Cho, or-or someone else."

Harry chuckled quietly, glancing at her in the dark. In the moon-bleached landscape, he could just make out a delicate blush rising across her cheeks. "No, Hermione," he whispered, squeezing her hand. "It's only been you."

Hermione grinned to herself, ducking her head so he could not see how pleased this made her. "Well then," she said, fighting to control her incessant grin. "I suppose perhaps a classroom? Though she wouldn't go inside if she were coming to meet us here," she added thoughtfully.

"Where would you go?" Harry asked suddenly. He surprised himself with his boldness, but found himself burning to know her answer. "The forest?"

She shuddered and looked at him, aghast. "Full of bugs, and snakes and—and werewolves?"

"Alright, I suppose not," he conceded. "Where then?"

"Well," she mused, Harry's favorite furrow appearing on her brow. "It would have to be somewhere relatively remote, or at least a place where few people have access. And somewhere separated from the common areas of the castle would be a good idea, as well. Perhaps even a room that not many people know exists. So I suppose something like the Prefects' bathroom, or the Room of Requirement."

"That's awfully naughty of you," Harry said cheekily. As soon as it was out, his eyes widened in shock; he hadn't really said that aloud, had he? He opened his mouth to form a hasty apology, but Hermione was laughing lightly.

"Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?"

Well, that hadn't been the reaction he'd expected. She didn't sound offended or disgusted at all by his unintentionally suggestive comment. In fact, she'd seemed…amused? Impressed he'd noticed? Eager to try her own suggestions?

He pulled himself from his latest round of unbidden fantasies to realize that Hermione was talking enthusiastically about the night's Quidditch practice. They struck up conversation as easily as they always had, dropping their hands by mutual unspoken decision as they rounded the last curve of the stadium, bringing the castle back into view.

"She'll probably have gone back up to the castle by now," Hermione said regretfully. It took Harry a moment to remember that the initial—though somewhat transparent—purpose of the walk had been to look for Ginny.

"If anyone asks, we can say we were looking for her and didn't know she'd gone back up," he offered playfully.

"Don't you still have homework to finish tonight?" she asked in her typical fashion.

He sighed. "Yes, and I've not started a bit of it, either. I suppose we should go back."

"I don't want to," she whispered as they neared the castle. "I want to stay out here, in the dark, where no one can see us."

"So do I Hermione," he said quietly. "So do I."

~% %~

When they arrived in the Gryffindor common room, both Harry and Hermione expected to see Ginny sitting in one of the plush armchairs, or perhaps doing homework at a table, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione glanced around with a vague sense of worry and said, "Perhaps she's gone to bed?"

"Perhaps," Harry replied doubtfully. "It is a bit late. Why don't you go and check, and I'll ask Ron?"

They parted ways, and Harry went to the table where Ron was sitting with Dean and Seamus. Ron watched his approach with a visibly irritated expression, and Harry knew that Ron, at least, suspected exactly where he and Hermione had been. He was grateful, however, that the redhead said nothing aloud to betray his emotions, though Harry didn't push it so far as to sit with the three other boys.

"Have you seen Ginny?" he asked her older brother without pretense.

"Not since practice, why?" Ron replied, obviously surprised by what Harry had had to say.

"She told Hermione she would meet her after—after practice," he said, deciding not to tell Ron about the interlude she'd planned with Michael Corner. "But she never arrived. Hermione and I were looking for her—" He chose to ignore Ron's disbelieving glance. "—and we didn't see her anywhere around the pitch, or on the way back to the castle."

"She's not upstairs," came Hermione's breathless voice from behind him, "and no one's seen her since before Quidditch. You don't suppose something's happened to her, do you? Maybe she got lost? Or perhaps she fell and—and hit her head?"

"I'm sure she's fine, Hermione," Ron said calmly, though Harry saw him glancing worriedly between the clock and the portrait hole through which his only sister ought to already have arrived.

"Do you think we ought to tell Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked cautiously.

"But if she's just still out, we'll get her in trouble," Hermione added doubtfully. "It's past curfew."

"If she's not back by midnight," Ron said decisively, "I'll go find McGonagall."

So Harry went upstairs to fetch his bookbag, settling down uncomfortably beside Ron, as was his habit. Hermione arrived moments later with a large, tattered old book and returned to a previously marked page to continue reading. All three alternated between concentration and nervous glances at the grandfather clock as the minutes until midnight steadily ticked away.

Hermione jumped slightly at the first chime of midnight, and all three looked up expectantly at the portrait hole.

As if on cue, the threshold slid open, though stepping through the portrait hole was a couple, both in their seventh year, who seemed equal parts surprised and suspicious to find the Golden Trio of Gryffindor apparently watching their entrance with such fixation.

"We'll give her five more minutes," Ron said resolutely when no one else spoke.

"Five more minutes," Hermione muttered in agreement. Personally, she thought the time for action had passed, but Ron was hardly in a state to have his judgment questioned.

Barely a minute had passed from this exchange when a small voice at Hermione's side timidly pulled her away from her Transfiguration studies.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Ginny, where did you run off to?" Ron demanded of his sister, looking up from his own assignment to glare at her where she stood awkwardly by Hermione's shoulder, idly rubbing her left arm in embarrassment. The people nearby looked up in surprise, having expected the next Weasley outburst to be once again directed at Harry.

"Do you have a minute?" she asked Hermione worriedly, ignoring her brother entirely. "I'm having trouble with a bit of Potions homework, and I was hoping you could maybe help me?"

"Sure," she replied. It seemed odd to Harry that Ginny would return from a midnight rendezvous with Michael Corner, only to bury herself in homework, but Hermione thought nothing of a student seeking her help with an assignment in any course. "Where are your books?"

"I've got them here," she replied, lifting her book bag slightly off her shoulder. "Can we go over here, though, where it's a bit warmer?"

Ginny gestured to an empty table several feet closer to the fireplace, and Hermione followed her suggestion. Ron did not comment, or watch them go suspiciously. He dropped the subject with a bit of a grumble, turning back to his Divination homework. Harry, having visually inspected Ginny and found no outward sign of damage, had already buried himself in the chapter on trances he had skipped reading before the previous Divination lesson. Dean and Seamus hadn't been paying attention to most of the exchange regarding Ginny anyway, and were distracting themselves from homework with the puzzles from the back page of the Evening Prophet.

In fact, no one seemed to take notice of the fact that Hermione had dropped what she was doing to help Ginny with her homework.

The girls paused and looked at each other, clearly thinking the same thoughts.

"Arithmancy," Hermione said quietly, after a few moment's pause.

"Divination," Ginny agreed. A grin worthy of the Cheshire cat spread across her face, and she quickly added, "But this time, I really do need your help."

~% %~

**A/N**: Since its original posting just over three years ago, this story has received over 70,000 hit on this website. That just blows my mind, so thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who sits around waiting for me to keep writing, and for all the new readers we pick up with each chapter! Even when I haven't updated in months, I still get new story alert emails, letting me know that one more person wants to keep reading what I have to say. And in an anonymous online format, that is just _such_ a huge compliment!

So thank you to everyone who reads, and reviews, and lets me know in whatever way that my story means anything to you, because you all mean so much to me ^_^

Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!

cj596


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